
Glass Jl^£ 
Book W^ 



• / 



XO THK 



Pacific and Back. 



BY 



MRS. J. A. I. WASHBURN. 



NEW YORK: 

SUNSHINE PUBLISHING CO. 

1887. 






Copyright, 1887, 

BY 

MRS. J. A. I. WASHBURN. 



i^ , ., 



/ y 



PRKKACK 



These letters were commenced as we started on 
our trip across the continent, with no idea of their 
continuance, but they met with favor at home, and 
the pleasure of sharing with my children the im- 
pressions stamped upon my own mind by the 
various scenes that we passed through, and the 
relief afforded to the monotony of many an other- 
wise weary hour, induced me to persevere. 

Upon our return we found that all of the little 
penciled leaves had been kept intact, but were 
exceedingly inconvenient for ready reference ; hence 
their appearance in this form, supplemented by some 
of my husband's letters, which fill gaps occurring 
in my own, portions referring to merely personal 
matters being omitted. 

I dedicate this little volume to my children, to 
whom the letters were originally addressed. 

J. A. I. W. 
New York, April, i88j. 



TO THE PACIFIC AND BACK. 



On the Canada Southern Railroad, 

Wednesday morning, 8.20 o'clock. 

May 5th, 1S86. 
My dear Children: 

We are passing through an uninteresting 
country just now, but we have had a deHghtful 
morning. To go back. After leaving you at the 
Grand Central Depot, the evening did not seem so 
very tedious, and, after joining Mr. S. at Albany, we 
retired about half-past ten o'clock. Our sections 
were made up as Mrs. B. suggested, with no parti- 
tion between us, and the room really seemed spacious 
and as comfortable as could be in this heathenish 
way of traveling. I slept well all night, and did not 
awake this morning till nearly six o'clock. I looked, 
or, as little Grace would put it, peeked over to see 
father, but lo and behold ! he was gone, even before 
zve arrived at Salt Lake. However, I began to dress, 
and shortly after he appeared, fully equipped and 
ready to help me. I refused assistance, having 



made up my mind to be independent for a novelty, 
but when it came to boots, I gave in and allowed 
my noble lord to approach and button them. I have 
not been car-sick so far, which is a comfort. We 
had a delicious breakfast, with fair appetites, after 
leaving Buffalo. We were in time to see the falls, and 
were in sight of the river for a long way. At Falls 
View Station the cars .stopped for all to get off five 
minutes, and then we had as fine a view of the Cana- 
dian side as could be desired. 

And now, as I said, we are passing through a 
country, interesting to me only as I look at the fresh 
green grass and young trees putting forth their 
variety of foliage. The rain fell all night, so every- 
thing is clean ; I can't quite say bright, for the clouds 
still hover, though broken and almo.st ready to clear. 
I have forgotten to say that the apple-trees were in 
bloom up the Hudson, as well as the shad-blows 
and box-woods, and so far to-day the cherry and 
pear-trees are in their beauty. 

A quarter of twelve: We hope in about three- 
quarters of an hour to reach Windsor, a point in 
Canada opposite to Detroit, which latter place we ap- 
proach by a ferry across the river and where we 
expect to dine about one o'clock. Windsor is a place 
where so many of our scape-graces go to get out of 
the clutches of the law. 



The joLirnc}' throuL^h Canada has been monoto- 
nous enough, generall\- through stumps and miser- 
able dwelh'ngs, enhvened by an occasional lumber 
mill, and, to make the morning longer, father at a 
certain point came and said : " You had better turn 
your \vatch back an hour, as we have now reached 
another kind of time." It was in bad enough taste 
to add an hour to m)- forenoon, but worse than this, 
I was very much hurt by the reflection upon my 
watch. He had not turned his own back, but cal- 
culates every time. He seems to think my watch 
of no consequence whatever. 

Five o'clock : We have really had a very agree- 
able afternoon, and are at Kalamazoo, just half-way 
from Detroit to Chicago, where we hope to arrive 
at half-past nine. We had a good dinner at Detroit, 
and since leaving there the scenery has changed 
entirely. It is undulating, well cultivated, and many 
of the farmers' houses are fine mansions. The 
orchards are in their glory here; the hill-sides are 
of all shades of green, and the soil is so good that 
every spot is covered with growing crops or grass; 
even the railway tracks go through what seems like 
a lovely lawn. We have passed through Ann Arbor, 
Jackson, Battle Creek and Kalamazoo, cities of 
thrift, and delightful to look upon, all situated on 
the hill-sides, whose slopes are extremely beautiful ; 



and then much of the way lies beside a river 
where the verdure runs down the bank to the very 
edge, and these banks are interspersed with masses 
of cowslips in full bloom, which you can imagine as 
giving a gorgeous aspect. Southern Michigan is 
an Eden. 

Chicago, Thursday morning: Have just come 
from breakfast. Your father is waiting to post this, 
which, perhaps, you cannot read. I am going out 
for a new satchel ; a poorer one and larger ; shall 
send mine home by express. 



Friday, 3 p. m.. 

May ytli, 1SS6. 
My dear Children: 

We are now about three hours out from 

Chicago, having passed Blue Island Junction, where 

some of the labor troubles are; but all was quiet 

when we came along, and, although we have not been 

molested, I am glad to leave such an unholy set 

behind me. For about two hoiu's the country was 

perfectly level, and we could see miles and miles in 

every direction, with scarcely any roads api:)arent, 

none fenced off; but the land is under a high state 

of cultivation, with nice farm-houses and barns here 

and there dotting the prairies, a cluster of fruit-trees 

in full bloom around each, while everywhere else the 



ground was sowed and planted, or covered with the 
brightest of green grass, with not a tree except those 
mentioned. Now, however, it is quite different. 

The land is hilly, with plenty of woods, as well as 
farms, and once in awhile a pretty village. We have 
just passed a lovely town to look at, Morris, where 
the lilacs are in bloom, as well as the cherry and 
apple-trees. Many of the latter are very dif- 
ferent from ours, as with us a deep pink one is the 
exception ; here it is the other way, and the color is 
deeper than any I ever saw ; more the shade of the 
peach, and you can imagine how beautiful they are. 
The wild flowers are lovely. I have just told the 
gentlemen that there is a thorn. / cainiot gather 
tJicni. They seem to think I will have a good many 
of that kind of pricks. 

Four o'clock: My pretty views and beautiful 
landscape all disappeared an hour ago. We have 
been following the Illinois River, a tolerably good 
stream, in its own bed, but a wide tract each side is so 
low^ as to be overflowed often enough to spoil the 
trees and vegetation, showing little but frog-ponds 
and their accompaniments of dry brush-wood, cov- 
ered with tangled grass and frog-spittle. Two towns, 
La Salle and Peru, are dirty, straggling places, lying 
on one street by the river, wMth the railway track 
right back of it. They are full of business, however, 



lO 

and some of the largest mills are there that I have 
seen, notably one, the Illinois Zinc Mills, covering 
an immense tract. Oh dear! what next? Now we 
have been going through an immense hog-pasture. 
It is in one of these quagmires that I have been 
telling about; half a mile of it, more or less, and 
hogs, and hogs, and hoggies of all ages, sizes, sexes 
and conditions wallowing in the black mire. Hurrah! 
we are out of all that — farther in from the river. 
Here is a sheep-farm. The sheep and lambs are even 
feeding and gamboling in the road track. They do 
not mind the cars one bit, and evidently belong to 
the " mind-my-own-business society." So we go 
on through a beautiful panorama, and we hope at 
seven o'clock to be at Davenport, the first point in 
Iowa, hax'ing crossed, when at that place, the north- 
ern part of Illinois. 

Father is awfully jealous of my writing, and 
wanted to read every word he could. He could not 
manage it very well, and what will you do? He 
seems mightily tickled, because he says I have a new 
way to spell lilacs. 

Saturday morning, half-past nine o'clock: Our 
last place before crossing the Mississippi was 
Moline, where my niece and namesake teaches in 
the high school; and if the building which we took 
to be the school-house were really such, she would, 



II 

in the East, not easily find one equal in elegance and 
outside surroundings. Indeed, the whole town, sit- 
uated as it is mostly, and the better part, on a hill- 
side presents a most picturesque appearance. There 
are many fine residences, and the view over- 
looking the river for miles and miles must be beau- 
tiful. I noticed a fine boulevard leading to the 
island where the Government buildings are. Rock 
Island City is very near, on the same ridge, a little 
to the south-west and not more than half a mile 
away. It was almost dark when we came through 
Davenport, which lies directly across from Moline, 
though there was still light enough to see the same 
muddy but majestic Mississippi that I have crossed 
once before. At this point, separating as it does 
to form the island, it is beautiful and grand in the 
extreme. 

Davenport, which we could see by its lights, is a 
fine town, and the many isolated and elegant dwell- 
ings with the lawns around them gave us the impres- 
sion that there must be a good deal of wealth as 
well as enterprise there. Then came the night, and 
our journey was over what proved to be a crooked 
and rough road. I awoke several times, feeling badly, 
and when I attempted to rise found myself veiy car- 
sick. Perhaps my paper had slipped off; however, I 
dressed as well as I could, ate a lemon, and after an 



12 

hour began to revive a little, and by the time we 
came to the Missouri I was able to go to the rear 
platform for a most beautiful view while crossing. 
The ri\er here is as wide as the Hudson at the 
Palisades, the current is veiy strong, and the water — 
well, the ^Mississippi is bad enough, but this is like 
thicker and richer cream than we ever get, of a dirty, 
mud color. 

We have just arrived at Kansas Cit},-, situated 
directl}»'on the bank of the Missouri. The cit}' is 
built oil a bluft". As we emerged from the cars we 
looked up two hundred feet, to the residence part of 
the town, and since then we have dri\en in a round- 
about way to the Coates House, at the top of half 
creation, I should think. I am waiting for the bag- 
gage, and am writing seated on a piazza in front of 
our room. The air is charming, and I shall soon be 
myself again. The men ha\e sauntered out to see 
what they can see. Our room is large, with three 
long windows overlooking Broadwa}-; the furniture 
modern and handsome, with a light and cheerful 
Moquette carpet. All that we can ask more is 
good living, which we have been led not to expect. 

Your mother had gotten so far when I came in, 
and we lia\e been to dinner, and I want to mail this 
before we go out to dri\e, which we all are going to 
do this afternoon. This is a prett}- lively town, but, 



as far as we have seen, it is a queer one. I will tell 
you more about it before we leave, which A\e plan 
to do Monday morning, and if all goes well we shall 
be in Denver for breakfast Tuesdav. 



CoATES House, Kansas City, Mo., 

J/nj' pt/i, 1886. 
My dear Children : 

As you have already learned, we arrived here 
yesterday morning and found very comfortable 
rooms awaiting us. 

We, Mr. S. and I, went out and called on our 
respective agents before dinner ; afterward they came 
and took us out drixing. We spent about three 
hours viewing the city, which is unlike anything I 
ever saw. The depot, elevators and heavy ware- 
houses are on a flat near the river-bed. Thence we 
ascend a bluff some two hundred feet, and find our- 
selves not on a plain, but most uneven surface, 
some of whose hills have been cut dow'n and some 
of the hollows filled, but still plenty of both are left. 
There are very few fine public buildings, although 
a year or two will see large additions, but there is 
an infinite variety of dwellings, from a cheap shanty 
to a seventy-five thousand dollar mansion, and these 
come pretty close together. They have not yet found 
it convenient to pave the streets nicely, but they have 



H 

electric lights, horse railroads (or niule roads, rather), 
one cable road, and two or three more, and an elec- 
tric road soon to be built. 

This morning I went to church and heard a good 
sermon from Mr. Hopkins, at the Congregational 
Church, a new and beautiful granite building, finely- 
appointed. 

The heat here comes upon us suddenly, throwing 
us a month or two forward into summer. After 
to-morrow, however, we shall get into the mountains, 
where I expect we shall find it cool enough. 



Kansas City, Monday, 

May loth, 1886. 
My dear Children, good-morning: 

We have just had our breakfast. The men 
have gone down town to say good-bye. I sit with 
my bonnet on, ready to start at ten o'clock for Den- 
ver. I am rested up, and feel pretty well ; father 
also. I have put on an extra large sheet of paper, 
with more gloss, and await the result. I am on the 
piazza in front of my room. Passing before me is a 
busy world. Every one hurrying and scurrying with 
all his might. The morning papers announce 
that this week will beat any on record in the sale 
of real estate. The land is sold all around this 



15 

town for from $25 to ^1200 per foot. Eastern 
people, including; the A's and T's, etc., of Boston, 
are investini^" lari^ely, and there have ah'eady been 
enormous returns. The people predict a second 
Chicago, or a. first. I was never in so busy a town. 
The dressing here is equal to New York. The 
young girls and children are trooping by to school, 
and they are not to be surpassed in style by those 
in that city. I will now say good-bye, perhaps for- 
ever, to the Missouri, as with its rapid, muddy cur- 
rent it flows on, swashing and grinding the banks, in 
full keeping with this everlasting rush in town. 
Sweep on, on, ever on, when all who are now par- 
takers of this busy whirl have passed to a boundless 
eternity. Farewell. 

11.30: We are now passing across the Great 
American Desert, as it was on the map when I 
studied geography, and our first stopping place, 
where we are now halting, is Lawrence. The town 
was once raided and burned by Quantrell, a border 
ruffian, and it is where Ossawatomie Brown oper- 
ated. There was a tremendous excitement at the 
East, and quantities of Sharp's rifles were sent out. 
I am glad to see this historic ground, although there 
is nothing but the name now that is interesting. 

We are following the Kansas or Kaw River 
to-day. We are told that the maps were correct 



i6 

about this desert, but the buffaloes were what killed 
it, tramping and gnawing, and when civilization came 
and drove them off, the grass sprung up and 
absorbed moisture, and now the soil is twelve feet 
deep, and very rich and valuable. It is too level for 
me; I do not want it. 

One o'clock : We have just passed through 
Topeka, the capital of Kansas. We do not see 
much of the town, but the steeples in the distance 
indicate quite a large place. There we had our 
lunch, and now we are speeding along, every moment 
putting distance between us and all those in the 
world whom we love. 

Later : The land is more rolling, and we are in 
the wheat region; orchards appear around the farm- 
houses, and I hope for more variety. All the 
upturned earth is black with richness, and every 
foot is cultivated. Osage orange-hedges divide the 
farms, but the railroad is fenced with barbed wire. 
There are no roads that I can see, but there must be 
cart paths, for farm-houses are set down here and 
there as far as the eye can reach in eveiy direction, 
at great distances apart. 

We have a jolly party of capitalists on board, who 
are en route for the geometrical centre of this State, 
and, they say, of the United States, where they are 
going to found a city, Kanapolis by name. They 



17 

have bought up a large tract of land, and in two 
days there is to be an auction to sell off the lots. 
Excursion trains are to run from all parts of the 
State, and they say they ivill have a city. Some of 
the party are manufacturers, and they will build here 
branch factories, etc. They are wild, and already 
one of the party has secured two lots of the man- 
ager since they came into the car, fearing he should 
lose them at the auction. One old man says : " I 
have seen one city grow from nothing — Chicago. I 
voted for its first Mayor, and I expect to see 
another." Ex-Speaker K. is one of them, and if he 
blunders as badly in this enterpri.se as he did in that 
office, his friends will be proud of him. 

Half-past four o'clock : Still we go on, on, in this 
valley of the Kaw. The river is about as wide as 
the Connecticut. It has a rapid current, is appar- 
ently very deep, and is very muddy. It runs right 
through the culti\'ated land, and is peculiar in that 
it has cut its way straight down through the loam, 
from ten to twenty feet, and makes a fine contrast — 
the clay -colored water and the black shore. I would 
not live here for all Kansas ; I should go wild with 
this sameness; for my variety, which I hoped would 
last, went shortly, and we have nothing to enliven 
this treeless, monotonous expanse. 



i8 

Good-morning. Have had a comfortable night, 
and at half-past five arose ; have had a cup of bad 
coffee, and am ready for business. We are two 
hours out from Denver, where we breakfast. We 
have been going up constantly since last night, but 
do not realize it, for the scene is a barren level as 
far as the eye can reach, with not even a stone in 
view; nothing but stunted grass and the miserable 
cactus. We see some promise of change, however, 
for we have come within sight of the Rocky Mount- 
ains, and Pike's Peak looms up in the distance, 
white with snow, as is also the top of the whole 
range that we can see. 

Dear W., do be content with your lot. You never 
would have been happy in this section of the coun- 
try ; I am sure of it. By the time you would have 
gotten money, I think you would have been in dan- 
ger of losing your taste for the delights and ameni- 
ties of life. We are now on this vast plain just the 
height of Mt. Mansfield, over 5000 feet above sea- 
level. There are the fir.st yuccas, and they seem 
interspersed with cacti as far as the eye can reach. 
We are passing over the Platte River now, and in 
five minutes will be in Denver. 

l^ight o'clock : Have been in to breakfast, and at 
table H. A. (3., of New York, joined us. He knew 
we were coming, and he says their agent, Mr. S,, 



19 

has an expedition marked out for to-morrow, through 
the cafions to Leadville. I have left the gentle- 
men at table in order that this may be mailed. 



The Windsor, Denver, Colo., 

May nth, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

We arrived here this morning about half-past 
seven, and have been on the go ever since. Soon 
after breakfast Mr. S., our agent, took us and Mr. 
O., who joined us at the breakfast table, out to visit 
a smelting and refining furnace, where we saw the 
various processes of roasting, crushing and wash- 
ing, and finally assaying, from the rough ore to the 
pure gold, silver and copper, and in the vault we 
saw the solid metal ready for shipment. Afterward 
we drove about and got some views of Denver and 
of the snow-capped mountains which lie about. The 
air is wondrously clear, and mountains, that they tell 
us are one hundred and twenty miles away, look as 
near as Mt. Holyoke used to from College Hill. 
This afternoon we were to drive again, but the wind 
has risen and the dust flies too fearfully to make it 
pleasant. 

This evening Mr. S. wants to have us see their 
Opera House, which was built by Senator Tabor, 



20 

and which they claim to be the finest in the 
country. 

You can hardly imagine how refreshing it was 
this morning, after so many hours through a prairie 
country, to see the mountains ; first. Pike's Peak, 
14,200 feet high, and soon after lofty ranges, with 
Long's Peak, some 200 feet higher, towering above 
them. The country about Denver and for a long 
way East is barren enough, except where it has been 
artificially irrigated, and there it seems fertile, and is 
said to be rich. Denver is a fine town, with wide 
streets crossing at right angles, and has many fine 
buildings, and looks very attractive to a stranger. 
The stores seem to contain everything we can get 
in New York, and perhaps some things besides. 
But I have told you all I know about it yet. 

We can hardly realize that it is only a w^eek ago 
to-night that we left home. Although we have 
divided our journey into easy stages, we have come 
a long way from our dear ones, and it seems a long 
while since we left them. 



^j-u rvrtj-i-n-rtj j 




21 

Denver, Wednesday, 

May 1 2th, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

Father telegraphed you this morning, because 
of the Kansas City catastrophe. You see we missed 
it by only one day. When we told the agents there 
that we had seen all and were going, they said: 
"Oh, stay a day or two longer, and perhaps we will 
show^ you a cyclone!" It must have been dreadful, 
and we might have been in its track. 

Two o'clock: We are en route for Colorado 
Springs, seventy-five miles distant, where we shall 
stay one day, and drive to Manitou, five or six miles 
out. This trip will be interesting, as at our right are 
the Rocky Mountains, with their snow-capped tops, 
and the foot-hills between. We finished up Denver 
this morning with a fine ride given us by Mrs. and 
Mr. S. She with her own elegant liveried turn-out, 
and Mr. S. with another. We stopped at their home, 
handsome in all its appointments, for refreshments. 

We have just passed, but not gone through, our 
first cafion. It is about four miles away, among the 
foot-hills, and where the Platte River comes through, 
the water of which is used for irrigation by means of 
canals in and about Denver. Two gigantic and 
lone rocks stand as sentinels at the height, against 
the sky, as one looks up through the canon. 



22 

Indeed, we are now in the country where the rocks 
assume very peculiar shapes, and we see curious 
formations. One can imagine any Hkeness desired 
among these fantastic and ragged cHffs; yes, as 
many objects as in the clouds, or as in Turner's 
cloud-pictures. I am gazing, as I write, upon Cas- 
tle Rock, a huge pile in geometrical shape and com- 
paratively smooth, crowned by what looks exactly 
like a castle in pictures of the old world. A most 
curious phenomenon. Contiguous to it is the larg- 
est cattle ranch that I have seen, and a Yankee 
barn, which took me right back for a minute to 
the far East. 

Four o'clock : We have been for some time among 
the foot-hills, and have now come upon a very curi- 
ous spot. Palmer Lake it is called. Close by the 
track the water covers three or four acres, and is as 
clear as crystal. It comes down from the melted 
snow of the mountains. The grass is very green all 
around it, and it is surrounded by a village of rock 
houses — natural, I mean. The rocks are isolated, 
and as perfect an imitation of Gothic and Queen 
Anne architecture as though real. It was hard to 
believe, at a little distance, that they were not habit- 
able, interspersed as they were among cedar-trees, 
which are generally spar.se in this region. The color 
also is misleading: some old gold, others gold and 



23 

brown, and one a bright terra-cotta. I had been 
wondering if we should see any of the high color- 
ing as shown by Moran, but there can be no exag- 
geration. Oh, dear! I wish I could say "whoa!" 
and get some specimens. 

Thursday night: We arrived here, Colorado 
Springs, last night. Had very good rooms appor- 
tioned to us, where we have a fine view of the 
mountains. This morning, directly after breakfast, 
we were driven to Manitou, six miles away, where 
are the springs and several places of interest to visit. 
The drive through the Garden of the Gods, the Ute 
Pass and the Rainbow Falls will be remembered 
forever. 

We arrived back in time for lunch, and were then 
driven about town. The place contains about 5000 
inhabitants, mostly rich people from the East and 
West, who come here for their health, and because 
they can live nowhere else, and those in this part of 
the country who make it a summer resort. The 
town is beautifully laid out. Most of the streets are 
200 feet wide, at right angles, and some are in bou- 
levard fashion, with two rows of trees in the centre. 
There are a great many elegant residences. The 
finest are of stone, of the colors found here, and in 
general style are somewhat similar to those at Law- 
rence, Long Island, with every description of quaint 



24 

architecture. There seems to be no manufacturing; it 
is not desired, as the town is to be kept, if possible, a 
genteel place to live in. It would do you good to see 
the fine horses and their riders. Horseback seems 
to be the general way of getting about for men 
and women, and the way they go would put to 
shame Eastern equestrians. The horses have the 
loping gait, and are trained bridle-wise — that is, 
they are guided by just a touch of the neck; 
and we passed to-day some riders on fine animals, 
whom I envied very much. We drove by as they 
watered their horses, but they came on and were 
soon out of sight, loping at full speed. This high 
altitude does not suit me very well, and I shall not 
be sorry to get a little lower down. We only lack a 
little of being 6000 feet above sea-level. I suppose 
that is the reason that Pike's Peak does not impress 
me as being I4,2(X) feet up in the world; and how- 
ever and whenever we climbed so high I can't see, 
for we have been on what seemed a vast, level plain 
most of the way, and from this town for miles and 
miles to the eastward is a level expanse. 

The wind is howling well to-night, and there has 
been a violent storm on Pike, but no cyclones come 
here, it is said, because the air is so light. It seldom 
rains, and the town depends upon irrigation. The 
water comes down in rushing streams from the 



25 

mountains, and from thcni canals pass tlirou^di even- 
street, from which water is carried underi^round 
into the )-ards, and then h\-drants are used for 
sprinkhng, etc. Father is L^ettin^ impatient and 
I must stop. We lea\e in the mornin<^ for Salt 
Lake. 

Friday morning: A cold, wind)' nii^ht, and tiiis 
morning the mountains are white with snow, well 
down toward the plain, and the cars that come from 
the north are covered. The wind whistles about the 
house, and the air is cold. I am glad that we 
decided to remain here, instead of being in Leadville, 
as at one time we thought we should be. This is, in 
many respects, a charming town, but we are ready 
to leave it. A little before eleven we expect to take 
the cars for Salt Lake Cit\-, where we hope to arrive 
to-morrow afternoon. If )'ou see Dr. S. you may 
tell him that I called on his son, who seems to be 
very pleasantly fixed here — is acting President of 
Colorado College. We have seen " H. H.'s" house, 
where she lived while Mrs. Jackson, spent a very 
plea.sant hour with our agent, and are ready to start. 
The air, or weather, or something else affects your 
mother and Mr. S. unplea.santly, making their 
lips and throats parched, and they are quite hoarse, 
while my hoarseness seems to be passing away. I 
hope, after we get over the mountains and toward 



26 

the Pacific coast, the air will suit them better. It is 
now breakfast-time, and I must say good-bye. 



Friday, May i^th, 1886. 
My dear Children : 

We left Colorado Springs at half-past ten 
o'clock, and are now one hour out. We passed 
Cheyenne Mountain, about six miles from the start. 
It is the abrupt ending of the chain, and about the 
height of Mt. Washington, but to me it looks not 
more than half as high. It is said to hav^e two as 
fine canons to visit as there are on the continent, 
but we had to hurry away. H. H. is buried there. 

We are on a narrow-gauge road, and the jolting 
is such that I fear you cannot make out my 
scratching. 

Later : For a long way we have been going 
through a tract very like the North Haven sand 
plains. The cattle looked starved, and I have already 
seen four fresh carcasses turned up dead, and many 
bones bleaching in the sun. A ranchman said yes- 
terday that during one storm he lost eight thousand 
dollars' worth. They were actually too weak to stand. 

About two o'clock we are promised some better 
scenery. We have just dined at Pueblo. Before 
entering the town we saw a large number of adobe 
houses, which are made of dried mud ; on one 



27 

side-hill there were as many as twenty. I saw half 
a dozen cowboys, crazy-looking creatures, dashing 
along on their wild and prancing horses. 

We are riding alongside the Arkansas River, a tur- 
bulent stream that tears away the banks and every- 
thing else in its course. We came upon it at Pueblo. 
The bluffs are worn away in many curious shapes, 
showing a variety of strata, but they are of ordinary 
sand color, and not inviting. We have been among 
the sand-hills for some time; they are singular in that 
they look formed artificially, being so regular and 
cone-shaped. In some places they stand as thick as 
hay-stacks on the salt-meadows, and look somewhat 
like them. 

I think we have turned our course now, and are 
going from south to west, still up-grade till six 
o'clock to-night, but I cannot realize it, all looks so 
level. For a long hour we have been traversing a 
narrow belt, say half a mile wide, by the side of the 
river, and hemmed in by high bluffs, clay colored, 
which have the appearance of having been worn 
away by the water. The strata, instead of running 
perpendicularly like the Palisades, are in layers the 
other way, and every now and then there seem to 
have been water-falls, which have worn down the 
sides into gorges, giving a scalloped effect. I 
became very tired of this, and tried to court Mr. 



28 

Sleep, but he was too coy and would not a-wooing 
go. We have come again in sight of mountains 
capped with snow; in fact, we are running into 
a snow-squall, and a fire is a comfort. As I was 
getting dreadfully discouraged we emerged into 
green meadow-land, inter.spersed with clumps of 
yellow flowers, and now we are in the midst of a 
tumble of high mountains. We are coming to Car- 
son City, where we shall take to the platform to view 
the Grand Caiion of the Arkansas. 

Later: The agony is over. Of cour.se, never hav- 
ing seen anything before approaching it in grandeur, 
my vocabulary has not words sufficient for the 
occasion, and the description book, which you will 
see some time, gives evidence that the power of 
speech fails to do anything like justice to its mag- 
nificence. Even where we are now, with the towering 
rocks and the tumbling, foaming river by our side, 
with only room for the track, winding round and 
round, it is beautiful and wild, and grand enough for 
ordinary mortals. The walls are so high, and the 
ravine is so narrow, that we can see only an occa- 
sional patch of sky. 

A quarter of five o'clock : WY^ have arrived at 
Salida, a point where the train breaks up, part going 
to Leadville, a distance of sixty miles. We were 
about half an hour in going through the canon proper, 



29 

but since then we hav^e been in the midst of wonderful 
scenery. At our left, eighteen miles away, are the 
Sangre de Christo Mountains. They are covered with 
snow, and eight or nine of the peaks are over 14,000 
feet high. At about the same distance to the right 
is a continuation of the Rockies, presenting quite as 
fine an aspect. Mr. S. has traveled across the other 
continent, and has been to California over other 
roads, and he says he has never seen anything to com- 
pare with it, and gives his opinion that we shall see 
nothing in the trip so fine. We still go on, up, up, till 
we shall come, at six o'clock, to Marshall Pass — the 
divide, as it is called. That will be our highest point, 
where we shall reach an elevation of 10,000 feet. What 
wonders have engineering and steam accomplished ! 
Saturday morning, half-past five : We climbed 
well last night. When I wrote earlier of the snow- 
capped mountains in the distance I little thought 
that we were to ascend them. But we did, and the 
process was what is called going over the Marshall 
Pass, the highest but one in the United States crossed 
by a railroad. We wound round and round in 
numerous horseshoes and loops till we reached 
10,850 feet, far above the snow-line. Indeed, many 
of the snow-peaks which we had admired were 
much below us, though a few were still higher. We 
were for two or three hours in the midst of ice and 



30 

snow, going through snow-sheds, on the brink of 
tremendous gorges and precipices, doubHng and 
twisting in our own tracks, and the divided part of 
our train was sometimes over our heads, a httle to 
the left or right, as the occasion required, with per- 
haps a gorge hundreds of feet between us. I was 
frightened ahiiost to death, and when we reached 
the top was devoutly thankful. As we began to 
descend, the night coming on, and everything look- 
ing so weird and fearfully grand, I was filled with 
awe, and with a feeling of littleness never before 
experienced, and was comforted by the recollection 
that the very hairs of our heads are all numbered. 

We remained up till eleven o'clock to see the 
Black Cafion of the Gunnison. The moon was 
shining brightly, and for fifteen miles we bounded 
along, turning such curves as you never can have 
imagined. We were alongside of a roaring, foam- 
ing river, whose waters and .spray, dancing in the 
moonlight, inclosed by walls of rock thousands of 
feet high, jagged and torn into every conceivable 
shape, with the rays shining in only as the curves 
gave them a chance to peep down and light all up like 
a flash, presented a .scene never to be effaced from 
memory. At two o'clock we had an accident, and 
narrowly missed a catastrophe. We were awakened 
by a sudden stop and crash. We had the end 



31 

sections, and at ni\- head down went the lamp, smash 
on the floor, and there was a rattling of the crash- 
ing china and glass belonging to the porter, all of 
which was not calculated to promote slumber. It 
turned out that the engine had run into a land-slide, 
and there was nothing to do but to be dug out. 
Accordingly a wrecking-car was sent for, and in an 
hour it and a party of thirty men arrived to dig us 
out, which the\' succeeded in doing after four hours' 
delay. 

We were all startled this morning to find ourselves 
on the immediate bank of a large river, not three 
feet off, while we can touch from the window the 
cliff from whence came the slide. This was com- 
posed of fine rocks and gravel. Had there been a 
large rock, the engine must surely have gone over. 
We are in the la.st car, and might have escaped. 
"All is well that ends well," and so far Providence 
has kept us safe. 

Later: We managed to get something to eat 
with what eggs were not smashed, and crackers, and 
raisins, and one doughnut, which I cribbed at dinner 
yesterday, .served off the broken crockery. " There 
is no loss without some gain" is true now if ever. 
We had expected to lose the view in the Lower 
Gunnison Canon in the night, but in consequence 
of the four hours' delav the mornino- ride has been 



32 

charming. We follow the Gunnison River. The 
rocks are castellated, but not so high but that we 
can enjoy the grotesqueness of their form and their 
beautiful combination of coloring. The different 
strata are red, green, white, blue and many interme- 
diate shades. The softer composition has worn 
away, leaving forms too unique, odd and grand to 
try to describe. 

Half-past eight o'clock : We are now at Grand 
Junction, where the Gunnison River joins the Grand, 
which we shall follow for a time. 

Half-past twelve o'clock : Since we left Grand 
Junction we have been crossing one immense bil- 
lowy desert. We quitted the river shortly, and since 
then have not seen a tree or shrub. Nothing but 
the boundless sand, with such scant herbage that the 
sand predominates over everything. Prairie-dogs 
are in great numbers. They come out of their hil- 
locks, sit upon their haunches, and gaze upon us 
apparently with great delight. They are pretty 
creatures. And then we have seen a few flowers. 
The ox-eye daisy has appeared veiy sparsely for 
the first time, also a red flower I do not recognize, 
and the red sage or salvia. And there! three 
bunches of pinks, such as I used to get at Inwood. 
Every other species of vegetation is the sage-bush. 
The general look, h(nvever, is sand, sand, sand. We 



33 

are six hours late, other trains having obtained the 
right of way by reason of our accident. The Mor- 
mons ma}' have Utah for all I care. 

I ha\c ample time for reflection to-day, and I 
ha\e been thinking much of my dear ones, so far 
awa}-. But the same Heavenly Father watches over 
us wlierever we ma\' be. And }-et. as I stood upon 
the rear platform at Grand Junction and looked upon 
ever)-thing with a stranger's e)'e, even the lettering 
on the freight cars appearing so different and to me 
indecipherable, I felt so lonely that my heart ached 
for my loved ones, whom each moment I was placing 
farther awa\'. I was nearly famished awhile back, 
but all I could get of the porter was a little bread and 
butter and marmalade. We are promised a dinner 
at about three o'clock. 

Half-past one o'clock : We have now crossed the 
Green River, a large and noble stream, except that the 
water is like mud. The same sandy aspect. You can- 
not be as weary of reading about it as I am of seeing 
it. The sun is pouring down, the glare is dreadful, 
and everybody seems tired, and hungry, and cross. 

Later: At three o'clock we had dinner at Price's 
Lower Crossing, where we should have breakfasted, 
but for our detention. Between five and six we 
reached Castle Gate, which is the entrance to Castle 
Caiion. This so-called eate consists of two immen.se 



34 

perpendicular rocks, 500 feet high, shaped Hke 
castles and mounted with imaginary battlements and 
turrets, and which stand opposite each other, with 
only room for the railroad and river to pass between. 
The coloring is of a beautiful red, the more striking 
by reason of contrast with the green foliage at their 
base. There we were detained an hour, waiting for a 
train from Salt Lake City, a circumstance to be 
deplored, as the scenery in this cafion is sublime 
beyond description. The rocks are high and massive, 
and project towards us as we move along in all 
fanciful shapes and coloring. The night is coming on. 
We hope to reach Salt Lake City at ten o'clock. 



The Walker House, 

Salt Lake City, 

May i6th, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

We arrived here last night at eleven o'clock, 

instead of five, as we ought to have done, having been 

detained by a land-slide, and after the most wonderful 

two days' railroad ride which we ever took, and which 

is beyond description or conception. Your mother 

has written it out for you in detail, as we passed on 

from hour to hour, but she was so wearied out last 

night that she left her little bag in the car. We 

hope, however, to find it awaiting us at Ogden. I 



35 

thought I had seen some wild scenery on raih'oads, 
but this on the Denver and Rio Grande is beyond 
an)-thing I ever imagined. I have no words to 
describe the scenery, and none could do it justice. 
It is impossible to exaggerate. 

This morning your mother has been taking a nap, 
trying to get rested, and I have been to the Congre- 
gational Church, where Dr. Taylor, of Japan, told 
us about mission work there. 

Our agent, Mr. G., met us last night at Castle 
Gate, and came on with us. He is a Mormon and 
an Elder, but aside from that he is a first-rate fellow. 
As yet we have seen nothing of the city, and I will 
finish my letter later. 

Afternoon: We have just returned from the 
great Mormon Tabernacle, which seats eleven thou- 
sand people, and was perhaps three-quarters full. 
The Lord's Supper was observed, as it is every Sab- 
bath, with bread and water, not wine, and a sermon 
was preached by Elder Stayner, the first part of 
which was evidently intended for the Gentile portion 
of his congregation. The organ is as large as the 
big Boston organ, and in addition there was a full 
orchestra and a large choir, and the singing was 
superb. After service Mr. C. and party, of New 
York, accosted me, and together we went about the 
Temple grounds and met some Mormons, who 



36 

showed us around and answered our questions. 
They are evidently in dead earnest and fanatical in 
their reHgious behefs, and the Mormon problem is 
no easy one. From our windows at the hotel we look 
out on Camp Douglass, where Uncle Sam keeps a 
militar)' force, to the great disgust of all Mormondom, 
but of which they stand in wholesome awe. 

Monday: This morning we are to drive about the 
town, and at about five this afternoon turn our faces 
toward Ogden, where we change from the narrow- 
gauge cars to the Central Pacific, and go on to San 
Francisco without further stop, hoping to arrive 
there Wednesday forenoon. Your mother says I 
must send all her love messages, for if she finds her 
bag (of which she has little hope), what she has writ- 
ten and inclosed in that must be mailed without 
addition; but if you fail to get her impressions of 
the journey from Colorado Springs thus far, you will 
understand the reason. 

This morning is hot and bright. The dust in the 
streets and on the sidewalks is not deep, but fine as 
ashes, and it is impossible to keep clean. On both 
sides of the .streets are streams of running water, 
without which there would be no fertility, but 
only the desert, which the Mormons found when 
they first came here. It is breakfast-time, and I 
must stop. 



37 

Monday afternoon: I see that your father has 
told you somewhat of our \'isit to Morniondom. and 
I wish to express my opinion here and now. These 
people, while eschewing profanity and intemperance, 
are a shameless lot, who, under the garb of religion, 
set at defiance the laws of God and man, and glory 
in their shame. It was about as much as I could 
stand yesterday at the Temple, when a miserable 
specimen of a man, with a poor, deluded, forlorn 
woman hanging upon him, approached our party 
and expatiated upon the glories of Mormonism, sup- 
porting his argument by Bible texts, any number of 
which he had at his command. I felt like moving; 
on, just as I would flee from contact with any other 
disreputable association. I have since heard enough 
of that man to account for my instinctive repugnance. 

The well-educated, wealthy, fine-looking and 
gentlemanly Elder, who drove us about the city this 
morning and showed us every attention, interested 
me not a little, and I really felt pained to learn that 
he was one of the most eloquent defenders of 
"the faith," though he is the husband of only one 
wife. Alas! alas! what shall be done with this 
vast number of determined enthusiasts? 

Adieu. We leave shortly, and one hour's ride will 
bring us to Ogden, where I do hope to find the lost 
bag, particularly as it was a souvenir from auntie. 



38 

Nevada, 

May iSth, r886. 
Mv DEAR Children: 

You will have seen that the little satchel was 
regained at Ogden, where father posted my leaves.* 
Something very funny occurred at Ogden. The mon- 
eyed portion of this party compared notes, and con- 
cluded they should not have to draw for money at 
Salt Lake, but they had not \'ery much margin. Mr. 
S. was going to grab his bag and run, at Ogden, in 
order to see about the sections, leaving father to 
escort me. After a good deal of puffing and .sweat- 
ing amid the crowd, he got his tickets, and found 
he had not money enough to pay for them ! The 
cold chills ran down his back for a few moments, but 
he remembered seeing father in conversation with a 
gentleman from Baltimore, so he told him that he 
must try to borrou' some money of ///;//. heather's 
coolness served him a good purpose. He obtained 
the money, with a promise to pay back at San Fran- 
cisco, and then Mr. S. and father began to find out how 
it happened. It seems that when Mr. S. paid the bill 
at Salt Lake he must havx> dropped a twenty-dollar 
bill, and looking further found that the}' had been 
charged twelve dollars too much for their section 
tickets. It did not take long to rectify that, and then 
they had just enough to repay the gentleman and, by 

* Letter of May 14th, page 26. 



39 

sliort allowance of meals and a contribution from my 
purse of three dollars, to reach San Francisco. We 
concluded, after a council of war, to pay back the 
money if we went without food — that is, full meals. 
So father strutted up to the gentleman at the table, 
and, w ith his fingers pulling out the money as though 
it were the small part of a bank, said : " My friend 
was sure he had the mone\', but in the confusion 
could not find it!" They then found that by allow- 
ing for the supper, two full meals to-day, and break- 
fast to-morrow, we could just scrape through. Then 
they went in and ate supper. / Was not very hungry, 
so tried the lunch-room, and for fort}- cents got a 
loaf of bread, some crullers and a piece of dried 
beef, on part of which I supped, and with the remain- 
der and some crackers and cheese, we shall get 
through the day with onl}' one more meal. How- 
ever, they haxe telegraphed to M. to wire their agent 
at Sacramento to meet us at the depot there with 
money, that we may not land at San Francisco with- 
out change for the porter ! 

My paper has served a very good purpose. I 
have scarcely been car-sick at all, but my cough is 
ver)' bad, and I have all the time what appears to 
be a cold in the head. 1 was obliged to sit up in 
bed last night, as nothing would allay the cough in 
the throat. We have about concluded that it is not 



40 

a cold at all, but an inflammation of the mucous 
membrane, caused by the dust of this alkaline 
country, as every time we stop over I am better. 
This road jolts one dreadfully. 

Half-past four o'clock : Nothing to be seen since 
early morning but sand and sage-bushes, and some 
skeletons of animals that we presume perished from 
hunger. O, blessed New England and the East ! 
Oh, what a cooling and heavenly spot would Centre 
Harbor be this day! Our skin and throats are 
parched by the heat and alkaline dust, with nothing 
to relieve the eye. O, welcome night! — ev'en if to 
sit up in bed. No matter how much I ma}- see, 
one trip like this is enough for a life-time. 

Wednesday morning, seven o'clock : We had no 
let-up of desert till about six o'clock last evening, 
when we approached the Sierra Nevada Mountains. 
We crossed into California last night, and regretted 
that we were to lose the scenery by passing over 
these mountains in the darkness. Providence 
favored us, however. I sat up in bed looking till 
nearly twelve. The full moon produced a grand effect 
as we dashed by the gorges, so far below us, and 
the wooded peaks above. At one o'clock we found 
ourselves in a snow-shed, and through the chinks of 
the boards we could see that we were surrounded by 
snow. But that was not what detained us there five 



41 

hours ! We had run into another land-sHdc, thereby 
L^iviuL;" us the coveted opportiniity of s^oiny; over by 
da\-, w hich we are doing now. It is difficuh to say 
which are the finest mountains to cross, as they are 
so unhke. Here they are covered with trees, which, 
after our dreary rides, are very grateful, particularly 
as we are rapidl}' descending to Sacramento, after 
7000 feet elevation at the summit. The ferns and 
flowers are beautiful, and we have bidden farewell 
to the deserts for the present. 

One o'clock : We have just dined at Sacramento. 
The Sacramento River, which we crossed before 
entering the town, is a noble stream, about as wide 
as the Connecticut, but apparently very deep. It is 
rapid and muddy. Upon the low^ grounds about it 
we saw two white cranes feeding in the grass, and 
later up flew five more and sailed awa\'. For some 
time we have passed vine)'ards ; the vines now are 
about three feet high, .starting out from .stumps. It 
seems they do not trellis them here, but they are 
allowed to .spread and intertwine near the ground. 
The cherries are in their perfection, very large and 
luscious. The whole country is a garden, and the 
abundance of live oak-trees scattered upon the green- 
sward gives a rich appearance to the landscape. A 
great man\- fruit orchards are in our wa)', and are dif- 
ferent from ours, in that the trunks are not more than 
two or three feet high before they begin to branch. 



42 

San Francisco, Thursday morning: We arrived 
about five o'clock last night, instead of eleven 
o'clock in the morning, when we were due. We were 
thankful enough for the accident which detained us, 
otherwise we must have lost sight of some of the 
wildest and finest scenery in this region of countr)^ 

We are all feeling pretty stiff and sore. Your 
father remarked this morning that he felt that he had 
no legs; nevertheless, Mr. S. and he have started out 
on business for the day. We are a good deal dis- 
appointed in receiving no letters from home. We 
had a letter from H. and from M. G. awaiting u.s. 
I am resting up to-day, and to-morrow hope to see 
somewhat of the town, but will send this scrawl 
along to-night. I seem a great way off, and some- 
times it makes me very sad. 



43 

Palace Hotel, San Francisco, 

May 22d, 1886. 

Mv DEAR Children: 

Your mother has given you a pretty full 
account of our doings and goings up to this point, 
so I will not repeat. In crossing the continent one 
becomes well satisfied that Uncle Sam has land 
enouo-h to give a farm to each of his children, but 
without artificial irrigation a great deal of it is too 
poor for anything but prairie-dogs and jack-rabbits 
to get a living from. On this side of the Sierra 
Nevadas the country is a garden. Fruits, grain 
and vegetables are rank and lush, and there is a 
profusion of flowers. We were surprised to see 
that the wheat harvest had already begun. 

This city is an active, bustling place, not quite 
as busy as Chicago, but pretty lively after all. This 
Palace Hotel is said to be the largest in the world. 
It is built around a large central court, w'ith a glass 
roof, and galleries on each story. Carriages and 
baggage-wagons drive from the street into the 
hotel and discharge their loads under cover. 
Every outside room has a bay-window, and I 
understand that every room has a bath-room 
attached. There are some eight hundred or one 
thousand people in the house. 



44 

We ha\'e had a walk through Chinatown, where 
some thirty or forty thousand of the almond-eyed 
are congregated, and a curious sight they are. 
This afternoon we expect to go to Monterey to 
spend Sunday. 



May 22d, J d clock. 
My dear Children : 

We have just started out for Monterey, 
where we are told there is a large hotel, the Del 
Monte, situated in very large and picturesque 
grounds, which reach down to the ocean. The 
road lies between the bay and ocean, though at 
present on my side, at the left, is a lofty hill, which 
heretofore I should have called a mountain. The 
country is beautiful. Many of the ev^ergreens 
which we pass are new to me; their foliage broad- 
leafed, somewhat like a cedar in their make-up, but 
more branching and spreading. The private lawns 
are filled with flowers, roses predominating, stand- 
ard and climbing, red, white and pink, of immense 
size, both as trees and flowers. The road-side is 
one bed of wild flowers, mostly new to me in color 
and form. I notice that the daisies, such as our 
florists sell, grow here in little trees, the body being 
about the size of my arm at the top. They grow 
two or three feet high, then branch out \'ery 



45 

compactly, and are completely covered with flowers. 
Fuchsias grow in the same way, and calla lilies 
live out and flower all the time, I should think. 
There! This minute we have passed a daisy hedge, 
which produces a superb effect. 

The live oaks are a feature. They are ver>' 
dark, and as they are low and spreading, the con- 
trast with the young green grass, as they grow 
scattered upon the hill-sides, is fine, and it all looks 
to the eye delightfully cool. We have now come 
to Menlo Park Station, and as we stop, opposite 
to me, growing like a large and overspreading 
grape-vine, is a passion-vine covering a tree, full 
of flowers and buds innumerable. Palms of vari- 
ous kinds are growing vigorously. I suppose you 
think that I am dealing out superlatives, but it is 
the only form of speech at all applicable. 

Another feature is the mustard. It must be 
raised here for export. As I write there are fields, 
and fields, and fields of it, on all sides as far as I 
can see. It grows about ten feet high, double and 
more compact than in New England. It still con- 
tinues, and I must say a change would be agreeable, 
gorgeous as it is. I have since learned that the 
mustard is wild, and is a great pest. Well, all is 
changed now, and grain has taken the place of 
mustard. Grass and erain are cut and raked into 



46 

heaps so thickly togetlier that you would be aston- 
ished at the yield. 

We are fortunate in our time here. The rainy 
season lasted two weeks later than usual, and so 
everything is fresher than it will be later. I have 
ceased to wonder that California feeds so large a 
proportion of the world. Everything is grown 
wholesale. Acres and acres of onions, then beets, 
and again turnips; but as yet I have seen no corn. 
I wonder why? 

We are now at San Jose, and the screeching and 
yelling of the hackmen indicate that it is a place 
of some note; indeed, I am just informed by my 
lord that the "Home" does a good business here, 
and that we may jiatronize the town to the extent 
of a day upon our return to-morrow. I only wish 
for the present that I could rush into one of the 
door-yards and snatch some of the roses. 

The inevitable follows us everywhere. A ceme- 
tery stretches at my right, close by the road-side, 
its appearance like a ^i^/ad city of the dead. A 
great many yew-trees and other evergreens, closely 
clipped in emblematic shapes, are scattered around, 
and I can see many arches of roses — entrances to 
lots I infer. There are no fences, and nature lias 
helped bountifully to beautify this last resting-place 
of friends who here, as at home, await the last great 



47 

.summons. " W'e a little longer wait, but hcnv little 
none can know." 

We have now reached a grazing countr\^ In 
the near and far di.stance the patches of vivid green 
alfalfa add greatly to the appearance of the land- 
scape. This plant survives the drought, the roots 
reaching to a great depth, and takes the place of 
our clover as food for cattle. We at last see some 
ranches that look as I had supposed ranches ought 
to look. The cattle here are fat, and sleek, and 
glossy; the horses and colts snort, and prance, and 
caper, as though they have the breath of life, and are 
not like the lean, frowzy, languid apologies we saw 
in the deserts of Utah and Nevada, dying b}- the 
road-side, and I did not wonder. 

Yes, live-stock seems to keep up with everything 
else; and, judging by the little faces at the windows 
and in the yards, human live-stock is not backward 
in the race. But to digress. What would litde 
Grace say to this big field, filled with pigs and 
piggies — white, black, big and little, rooting and 
capering in the clean, green grass? "Handma" is 
afraid that the little lone pig on the shelf at home 
would not be of much account. The next pasture 
is devoted to calves, and they really gambol and 
play as though they were having the best time in 
the world all by themselves. 



48 

I think we are nearing our haven. A huge bank 
of fog is rolHng up over the distant hills, and the 
reflection of the sunlight gives it the appearance of a 
billowy bank of clouds, silvery in hue and great 
in magnitude. The air becomes chilly; we throw 
off dusters and don our thick garments. The 
whistle sounds — good-bye — we shall soon see the 
great Pacific. 

Hotel Del Monte, Monterey, Sunday night: Well, 
we have spent a night and a day at this rarest of 
watering-places, and I wish you were here to enjoy 
it with us. I cannot adequately describe the very 
pleasantly arranged and roomy house, for say two 
hundred and fifty people, situated almost within the 
sound of the waves rippling on the shore, in a park 
of one hundred and twenty-six acres, interspersed 
with green lawns studded with huge pines, liv^e 
oaks, etc. Walks and drives, artistically planned; 
huge beds, with a profusion of flowers, many of 
them such as we see at home only under glass, 
and all most luxuriant in their growth ; the air 
filled with their fragrance and with the music of 
the birds, all combine to form a temporaiy home, 
the like of which cannot be found elsewhere. Your 
mother has just reveled in the garden to-day, and 
says this spot alone is worth the journey from New 
York. We have exceedingly pleasant rooms, and 



49 

have enjoyed the day i^reatl)-. To-morrow we 
propose to take a drive of some ei<^hteen miles, 
and Tuesday go back as far as San Jose; thence to 
San Francisco, where we hope to find letters from 
our dear ones. 



Hotel Del Monte, 

Monday, May 241/1, tSS6. 
My dear Children: 

I suppose that you may get tired of these 
fragmentary epistles, but it is the only way that we 
can keep you thoroughly posted. After trax'eling 
long distances we are very tired when we arrive at 
any point, and are glad enough to eat and rest, and 
after that our time is occupied by seeing the sights. 
If all were left till we had leisure, I am afraid you 
would get comparatively ^cw items, and even less of 
the impressions made by what we see. So, at the 
risk of my leaves being tiresome and monotonous, 
and I fear almost indecipherable, I jot as I go. 

As your father wrote last night, we are more 
pleased with this place than any that we ha\'e seen. 
We have just come in from an eighteen-mile drive, 
first riding through Monterey, the oldest-settled town 
in California. It is not much of a place now. The 
buildings are poor, and mostly one story ; some of 
the older ones adobe. We passed what was once 



so 

the headquarters of General Vallejo; also the first 
custom-house in California, and the fort where Gen- 
eral Fremont was quartered — all not much to see; 
and last, a cross stuck up to show where the ear- 
liest Carmelite mission was. The first place stopped 
at was called Moss Beach, but why we could not 
make out. I saw no moss, and it was only 
interesting in that the great Pacific was rolling and 
lashing upon the rocks at our feet. As we stood 
upon the bank and gazed over toward Japan and 
China, I felt content to stay upon the shore, particu- 
larly as the waters are very angry to-day, and are 
throwing the spray so high in the air over the rocks 
that I shudder at the thought of any boat being in 
their power. Then we went on to a point that was 
really noteworthy. Across a little bay are some 
large rocks, whose bases are worn away enough to 
give shelter and rest to thousands of sea-lions. Oh, 
what a sight ! We could have no idea that there were 
so many. But something must have given them a 
start, for simultaneously the crevices of the rocks 
seemed alive with them. They arose and scram- 
bled for the water, into which they plunged, amid 
most unearthly yells, that must have been heard for 
miles. The gentlemen say some of them were as big 
as horses. Their ap2:)earancc in the water was a sight 
to behold while they were swimming in the bay, 



51 

and as we drove away, their shrieks in the distance 
impressed me with the feehng that all the fiends 
were let loose, and that Pandemonium reigned. 
The next halt was at Pebbly Beach, a spot on a lovely 
bay, where the bluest of water was gentl)- lapping the 
white sand and strewing it with very pretty little 
stones for quite a stretch. I told the gentlemen far- 
ther back that water was \\ater, and I did not care 
for // — that / should look for flowers. But there 
is a difference after all. The formation of the rocks 
is not the same, the trees upon the banks are differ- 
ent, and one bay is the deepest of deep blue, while 
another very near is of light green, where waves 
of white foam dash upon the Vvhite beach in quite 
a fascinating manner. But it is the Pacific Ocean, 
and I am ever and ever so far from home, and the 
roar makes me sigh in spite of all the beauty. One 
thing has interested me hugely, and that is a grove of 
Monterey cypress, the same as the cedar of Leba- 
non, and the only large grove on this continent. 
These trees grow as no others do that I have ever 
seen, the branches being flat, and extending this 
way, and that way, and every other way but the 
right way. And now we are back again at the hotel, 
and have just had our lunch. My bonnet is not off 
yet, and I am going for one more stroll about this 
lovely spot. 



52 

Wednesday morning, before breakfast: We 
arrived back at San Francisco last night, just three 
weeks from the time we left home. But it seems an 
age to me, we have had so many, and strange, 
and varied experiences, and the distance seems 
appalling ; besides, this is my first adventure where 
I cannot get to my own in case of need. The day 
before yesterday, it was a year since auntie passed 
away, and I have been living all that trouble over. 
How much she would have enjoyed being with you 
and following us along in our pilgrimage; but it 
was not so to be. We received W.'s letter last night ; 
also one from Mrs. G., and your father one from 
Dr. S. M. G. is sad, sad, .sad. She wrote that Becca 
would have been sixteen years old that day, and that 
the table under her picture was covered with roses 
and other flowers, the gifts of loving friends. 

But to go back. We left the Del Monte early 
yesterday, and took cars for San Jose, where we 
arrived about half-past eight. The " Home " agent, 
Mr. C, was glad to see us, and his son took us 
driving. The town is old, but lively, and full of 
business, with plenty of competition. It has about 
twenty thou.sand people, most of whom seem to be 
living comfortably, in detached houses, with little 
yards around them full of palms and flowers. The 
dwellings are all low, mostly not more than one 



53 

story, with gables, ba)'-\vindo\vs, and swelled fronts 
— veiy unique and pretty. White climbing roses 
are a feature. They reach the roofs, are trained 
across verandas and around windows, and now are 
very profuse in their clusters of lorgc, pure, white 
flowers. 

All the beauties (roses) which we see at our flo- 
rists grow here without protection, and are said to 
blossom all the time. At Del Monte your father 
measured one, and found it to be fully six to seven 
inches across. I did the same with one white 
clematis there, and from tip to tip it stretched two 
and a half times the length of my middle finger. 
Lest you should not believe it, I will say that // 
7vas tJic largest, though I presume there were a 
dozen on the bush that would reach the length of 
two fingers, or a quarter of a yard. 

The drive took us up the Alameda road to Santa 
Clara, a distance of three miles. This is a wide 
sort of boulevard, with eucalyptus and poplar-trees 
through the centre, and leads directly to the convent 
of Santa Clara, a large rambling building, which is 
the only thing of note in the town. It is a dead 
place. If it ever had any life, it was earlier, when 
the Spaniards had their own way. This same 
nationality prevails here now. The object of this 
drive of twenty miles around was to see the 



54 

country and get an idea of the fruit-growing dis- 
tricts, and in this respect it will be memorable. 

The Santa Clara Valley' is one of the richest in 
California. We passed some portions where there 
were banks which showed the soil to be twenty feet 
deep. The land has been in constant cultivation for 
thirty years, with no rest, and seems just as good 
as ever. They have a way of massing things here. 
For instance, we would ha\-e pointed out a cherry 
farm, where, as far as we could see, there would 
be nothing but cherry-trees. Perhaps the next 
would be an apricot farm. The trees are all set 
out regularly in rows, straight as an arrow, so that, 
as we ride along, there is an alternate av^enue and 
line of trees, perhaps twenty feet between. Then the 
trees are all kept pruned and trimmed to the same 
size and shape ; and when a field of this kind has 
been passed, acres and acres in extent, you can 
imagine its beauty. The same characteristics gov- 
ern the French prune orchards. Do you wonder 
what is done with all the fruit ? Precious good 
care is taken of that. Connected with each orchard 
is a drying and packing establishment for the prunes, 
or facilities for canning and preserving the peaches, 
pears, apricots and cherries, and they are sent to all 
parts of the world. And such fruit ! I have picked 
up this minute a cherry from the table and measured 



55 

it. It is two and a half inches around, and is a fair 
a\-erage of the few that are left of two pounds 
I bought yesterday, having eaten the largest on 
our way home, which probably accounts for my 
staying in doors with a headache this morning, 
instead of seeing the sights. We lunched at San 
Jose, and then started homeward, retracing the way 
we went down on Saturda}'. All along this route 
are the summer homes of the California kind's — 
Stanford, Hopkins (Sharon and Ralston that were), 
D. O. Mills, etc. They are out of sight, however. 

The temptation to eat some of these cherries is 
so great that I have covered them over with a brown 
paper bag, and I am going to stop writing and go 
to work to repair damages. I dare say your father 
will want to sa}' a word. I will add that this pen 
is about the worst I ever used. 

Later: I have just had an earthquake to shake 
me up. After writing the above I became so sleepy 
I could not work, and was lying down asleep, when 
there occurred that which no one can ever mistake. 
The rattling and quivering awoke me, and lasted 
long enough for me to realize what it was. I list- 
ened for what should come next, and saw the lam- 
brequins in the arch of our bay-window sway and 
the fringe shake itself out. Then I arose and heard 
quite a clamor in the halls. It made me sea-sick, and 



56 

that was all. The elevator-man says it gave a great 
scare to those in the sixth story, for the vibration 
was much greater there. He also remarked, in a 
rather contemptuous manner, that there were a good 
many frightened Eastern people here ; so I drew 
my head — or rather my tongue — into my shell, 
and said no more. But my trip would have been 
incomplete, I suppose, without a California earth- 
quake. I wonder what your father will say about 
it when he comes in. 

Thursday morning, May 27th: I am dressed 
before your mother, and so will write a few words 
before breakfast. It is a hot, bright morning, and 
we may very probably have another earthquake. 
S. and I were running about and did not feel the 
shock at all, though it was pretty sharp in the offices, 
and especially where people were up from the ground 
a few .stories. Mother thinks that venturesome 
bow, W., which you drew in your last letter must 
be a new instrument, as she supposed it was under- 
stood that this was our address until otherwise 
directed. Of course we are not here all the time, 
but for the present San Francisco is headquarters, 
and will be until the 20th of June ; so that letters 
mailed up to the middle of June will reach us here. 

We inclose a slip from one of the San Francisco 
papers, describing Colorado Springs and the Carden 



57 

of the Gods, etc., w^hicli is \er}' t^ood, and which 
will perhaps interest you. 

You don't know how sleepy we all are. Probably 
the change of air has something to do with it, but 
we can hardly keep our eyes open all day, and we 
do some pretty tall sleeping at night. This morn- 
ing your mother is going to walk with us, and see 
some of the strange sights, before we go to the 
office. This is a big city and is well built, yet the 
streets run out into desolate .sand-hills. As we look- 
out of our bay-window up Montgomery street, the 
eye follows blocks of fine buildings on both sides, 
and yet within sight the street runs up a steep sand- 
hill, where it seems to be lost. 



San Francisco, 

May 28th, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

To-day we have been over to the Cliff House, 
a drive of six or seven miles. Mr. M. and Mr. W. 
went with us, and we enjoyed the ride very much. 
We went over the hill and around to and through 
the Government grounds and Camp Presidio, where 
General Howard is in command. It is really a 
beautiful spot, situated in what they here call a 
pocket, between the hills, and yet not hemmed 



58 

in, the hills not lying very near, but sufficiently 
so to shield the grounds from the trade-winds of 
the Pacific, while they have a cooling breeze all the 
time, softened by the sun. So mild is it that 
flowers are in perpetual bloom. The officers' 
houses are tasty in architecture, and there is quite 
a settlement of them. The flowers are a feature, 
and people drive from all parts to see them. But 
if you think that flowers or anything else grow 
here spontaneously, without labor, you are mis- 
taken. They have the advantage of soil and climate, 
but there is no rain all summer, and watering and 
care must be given, as with us. Just the same 
everywhere — nothing without work. I was struck 
with this fact down at San Jose, as we drove by the 
orchards and vineyards. In the former the owners 
are plagued to death with scale-bugs, etc., and in 
one large field the apple-trees were leafless, be- 
cause the owner had applied his whale-oil soap too 
strong. I also saw one vineyard where the vines 
were covered with sulphur. The local papers are 
full of remedies for this, that and the other destroyer 
of their crops. 

Well, suppose I go back to my Camp Presidio. 
The name is musical enough to make one want to 
stay there. It was an old Spanish fort before we 
had it — hence its name. A great deal of taste has 



59 

been displayed in layini^- out the L^rounds, and it all 
looks as though these occupants might have an 
easy time, if anybody in this world could. But as 
we drove along, and saw squads of soldiers 
drilling and practicing at targets, and noticed the 
chain of earth-works alongside of the Golden Gate 
that must be taken care of, I concluded that men 
could not be drones even here. This narrow pas- 
sage of the Golden Gate extends three miles, I think, 
and it will be an achievement worthy of note when an 
enemy gets by these guns; for, instead of being one 
fort, there is, as I said, a complete chain, and they 
look veiy solid and symmetrical. We had the 
pleasure of seeing the Portland steamer thread her 
way through and out. It being rough to-day, the 
rearing and plunging did not make me sigh one 
bit for a trip on her. 

There is nothing at the Cliff House to see but 
the mighty Pacific, roaring and dashing against the 
shore, and the seal-rocks which lie a few rods from 
the house, and which are covered by the sea-lions 
basking in the sun. They seemed more peaceably 
disposed than those we saw the other day, but they 
were nearer, and consequently more disgusting, 
crawling and hunching along on the rocks — wet 
and slimy-looking things, bellowing at nothing all 
the time. 



6o 

We came home by way of Golden Gate Park, the 
only drive about the city that I have seen or heard 
of. To tell the plain truth, I do not think there is 
much pleasure in driving. The dust is appalling, 
and then these trade-winds prevail every afternoon, 
and drive one full of it. I came home this after- 
noon and worked till I was tired in getting my 
bonnet decent again; and as for my face — well, the 
less said about that the better. I have not seen all 
of San Francisco yet, but enough to convince me 
that at the East our lives are cast in pleasant places 
to live compared with anything this way. Just think 
of it — no rain all summer. I am lonesome for it 
even now. I see dust, smell dust, and eat dust 
all the time. 

Saturday morning: So far had your mother writ- 
ten when Mr. S. and I came in and interrupted her. 
We went through a portion of Chinatown, and 
among other things went into a hotel and had a 
cup of tea, which they made for us on the table, 
and with it brought a plate of cakes, one of sweet- 
meats, and one of some sort of nuts — all very good. 
The furniture was carved ebony, and on one side of 
the room were couches, where, I suppose, we might 
have had a little opium smoke, if we had so desired. 
This city of heathen, right in the heart of a 
Christian city, seems strange and sad. I do not 



6i 

wonder that the people here want to get rid of it — 
but how? 

The park here, where there are beautiful flowers, 
etc., was made out of sand-hills more uninviting 
than Coney Island; and, indeed, nearly all the farms 
in this countr)'- are unpromising enough in their 
native condition. But everywhere we see the wind- 
mill and water-tank, and artificial irrigation is a 
perpetual necessity. Your mother and I have con- 
cluded that if we were to go to farming we would 
rather pick out stones in New England than be 
forever pouring on water here, notwithstanding the 
fine flowers and fruits. 

We have an invitation from Judge B., our legal 
adviser here, to go to San Rafael on Monday and 
drive about, lunch, etc. To-morrow I expect to 
gi\'e to Rev. Mr. Pond and his Chinese mission 
work, and so look upon the Chinese from a different 
stand-point. The last of the week we shall probably 
go to Los Angeles, thence to the Yo Semite, and 
then return here. At Los Angeles Mr. S. will leave 
us, and probably go directly home. We dislike 
exceedingly to part with him, for he is a very 
pleasant traveling companion, and has contributed 
much to the enjoyment of our trip. 



62 

Palace Hotel, San Franclsc(\ 

jWav J I St, iS86. 
Mv DEAR Children: 

We sent off a letter to you on Saturday, and 
nothing worthy of note has happened since ; but we 
cannot tell one day how we may be occupied the 
next, and. as I am alone awhile, thinking of you, I 
may as well tell you so. Yesterciay morning )'our 
father and I rode on the cable road for about two 
miles, to attend church where a Rev. Mr. Pond 
preaches, and who also has spiritual charge of the 
missionary Chinese on this coast. Dr. S. wrote that 
the Missionary Association wished your father to 
look him up and see what is best to be done here. 
They are to have a conference on Wednesday. The 
church was as chilly as a vault, and I took a chill 
and also nine grains of quinine last night, besides 
warming up as soon as I could get home. This 
morning I am all right, except a headache, which 
always follows a dose of chills and quinine. This 
being Decoration Day, business was expected to 
be rather dull ; so the gentlemen of the party took 
the opportunity to "chin" (slang), as they said, with 
Mr. M., and talk over business. 

Later: They came in at this stop and proposed 
a walk to Nob Hill, so called from the nobby 
millionaires who reside there. We passed by Mrs. 



63 

Hopkins's, Go\-ern<ir Stanford's, Mr. Colton's, Mr. 
Flood's, Mr. Crocker's, and Senator Hearst's places, 
and also saw the Sharon residence, which he had 
sold before he died. They are all palatial, but not 
very his^h, althou-^h each one covers an immense 
space for a prixate house. The character of many 
of California's great men does not bear much ven- 
tilation; but then they have money, and some of 
them, it is said, b\- that means have caused laws to 
be made in order that their descendants may have 
some right and title to a respectable pedigree. We 
also saw the church where Dr. Stone preached so 
long (now Dr. Barrows'), and several other churches, 
besides getting a good \iew of the cit}- and the ba)'. 
The smoke has been so dense every time we have 
had an opportunity to see into the distance that the 
attempt has been a failure, and we had no better 
success to-da)'. The dust and smoke are a bar to 
any comfort in riding and walking, and, as I have 
said before, the cutting trade-winds every evening 
drive the sand into any crevice of the clothing, 
neck and face. I have now seen quite a little of 
this great city, and I would not live here any sooner 
than Mrs. C, and I do not blame her one bit. 

I must dress for dinner. I wish I could sit down 
with you and dine, though you are through by this 
time, and perhaps abed and asleep. Pleasant dreams. 



64 

Later: Father has just read the New York news 
regarding Decoration Day. What a wonderful thing 
is the telegraph ! And to think it is a rainy day ! 
California flowers for General Grant's tomb are 
spoken of I saw one of the pieces made up at 
Del Monte, and it was beautiful. 

Tuesday morning, June 1st: Four weeks ago 
this afternoon we said good-bye to our dear ones, 
and it seems as if it were as many months. We 
have enjoyed it all, but the days have been 
crowded with new sights. Your mother is dressing, 
and, as I am ready first, I have a few minutes to 
chat with you. After dinner last night, your mother, 
Mr. S. and I started for Chinatown, intending, 
among other things, to visit the Chinese theatre, of 
which there are two. We found, however, that 
both were closed for a few days, as they are once 
in each year. So we wandered about for awhile, 
seeing the strange sights, and then got a Chinaman 
to take us through various dark alleys to a Joss 
House. Your mother was a good deal inclined to 
be afraid, and I did not blame her much, for we went 
through a jjretty poky-looking route. The Joss 
House, or Temple, is small, but filled with \'ery rich 
furnishings. Bronze carvings covered with gold; 
banners embroidered with silver and gold; images 
richly dressed, and, standing in front of them, 



65 

weapons which the originals of the images used in 
their hfe-time; vases filled with tapers inscribed with 
Chinese characters, which worshipers select by lot 
and burn before the images by way of prayer, and 
in front of each image a cup of tea, made fresh 
ever)' morning. After leaving the Joss House, we 
went to the same restaurant which Mr. S. and T 
visited before, and had some tea. It was made for 
us on the table, and was perfectly delicious. Such 
tea you never drank in \'our lives. It is drawn 
separatel}' for each person. As we left the place 
we asked if we could buy some of the tea, which 
they told us was Oolong, and the price only $2.50 
a pound ! 

Your mother finds Chinatown the most novel 
and interesting thing she has seen here, and does 
not seem to tire of looking at these Celestials in 
their shops and stores. She seems to have gotten 
over her Sunday's cold, but here in San Francisco 
the west winds are terribl)' harsh and trying. Mr. M. 
could not bear them, so he was compelled to move 
to Oakland, where, they tell us. the air is far more 
balmy. 

Aside from the business centre, this is almost 
entirely a wooden city. Dwellings, churches and 
school-houses are all built of wood, and almost 
every house is built with ba\'-\\indo\\ fronts from 



66 

top to bottom, which look pretty at first, but get 
rather tiresome in their sameness. It is breakfast- 
time, and I must stop. 



San Francisco, 

June 4th, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

We leave this afternoon for Los Angeles, so 
I will mail a few lines from here. Yesterday we went 
over to Oakland and had a very enjoyable trip. 
Mr. M. went over at the same time, and at the 
landing his carriage and horses met us, and we all 
went driving around the city and its suburbs. We 
also visited another suburban town on the bay — 
Alameda by name. Both of these places are made 
up of residences owned by men doing business in 
San Francisco. The former is laid out regularly, and 
nearly all the hou.ses have pretty lawns and gardens 
around them, in size according to the wealth and 
taste of the owner. All are unique and pretty; 
some are pretentious and costly. 

If I ever come into this part of the world to live 
it will be in Oakland, as far as I have seen. Ala- 
meda is well laid out, and enjoys a fine air and 
situation, but is newer, and is not nearly as large 
and attractive as the former city, which boasts of 
fifty thousand inhabitants. The palms of many 



6/ 

varieties, roses, geraniums and calla lilies exceed 
any that I have seen hereabouts, not only in their 
size, but in their profuse flowering and color as well. 
One long hedge of geraniums yesterday, of a new 
flame color and a solid mass of flowers, we saw in 
the distance fully half a mile before coming up to it. 
I presume this, however, was partly owing to the 
clearness of the air and the sun shining upon it. 
We had an uncommonly clear view of the bay and 
the islands therein. The latter are few in number, 
for this is the finest bay in the world, I am told. 
Alcatraz Island is not large, but consists of one 
huge perpendicular rock, near the entrance to the 
Golden Gate, and has fortifications on the top. 
Opposite is Angel Island, about a mile across 
from the other, and this space may be considered 
the exit, or, rather, the commencement of the 
exit from the bay to the ocean. The bay itself 
is si.xty miles in length, and where we cross to 
Oakland it is six miles wide, entirely landlocked, 
except this narrow channel of several miles leading 
into the Pacific. A good many men-of-war and 
some foreign steamers were in the bay. We dined 
at Mr. M.'s. He has a lovely house, which he 
has just bought, and into which his family moved 
but two months ago. I wish I could describe some 
of the trees and shrubbery about their home, but I 



68 

cannot. What do }'ou think of a lemon verbena 
(which you know with us is a twig), being a tree 
with two trunks, each as large around as my arm, 
thickly wooded and covered with leaves and flowers? 
I must confess that this astonished me, even after 
what I have seen in the way of daisy-trees, and 
fuchsias, and heliotropes, one vine or shrub of which 
at Del Monte covers the house broadside to the roof 
Do not imagine that all this is without labor and 
care. Mrs. M. said she had been out all the morn- 
ing destroying worms ; and everybody having 
anything green around them is compelled to have 
either a windmill or a steam engine on the place 
to raise water from some source, to be constantly 
applied night and morning. The return, however, 
is grand, and as there is no frost of any consequence, 
everything lives out, and flowers prevail the year 
round. It would not be much trouble to me, after 
all, if I could reap such a return. The contrast 
between these places and the highways and by-ways 
is very striking; for now everything not irrigated is 
getting to look sunburnt and dried, and will be more 
and more so till November, when the rainy season 
sets in. Oh, dust! dust! Well, it is dreadful; but 
of that we have spoken enough before, and I am 
told that what we sliall encounter of that com- 
modity on our more southern route, which we 



69 

enter upon to-day, exceeds by far anything we have 
seen. As we resume the hne of march once again 
I cannot but have vague fears of what may befall 
us in the way of danger or sickness. I feel it the 
more as Mr. S. leaves for home next Thursday; 
and the idea of being alone in case of misadventure 
is rather formidable. Still, the same kind Heavenly 
Father, who has shielded us thus far, will, I trust, 
extend His loving and tender arms in the future, 
and bring us safely over and through the perils 
which always surround us everywhere. I am glad 
to know that you are all well, or were. Oh, this 
distance ! I cannot get accustomed to it. 



Friday, 4 p. m., 

June 4fh, 1886. 
My dear Children : 

We left San Francisco at half-past three 

o'clock for Los Angeles, and retraced our steps, or 

our steam, as far as Benicia, where we have just 

arrived, and are now switching off to the south. 

We shall soon leave the Sacramento River, which 

is an extension of the bay before us. Benicia, as 

we see it on the opposite side of the river, is a pretty 

town. Uncle Sam has a navy-yard here, and there 

are several steamers anchored in the bay. Before 

coming to Benicia we lost sight of the Tamalpais 



Mountain, loomint^ up to a great height, and bid 
good-bye for the present to San Pablo Bay — a beauty 
of a bay, running in from tlic bay. And now we 
have almost come upon the Diablo Mountains, two 
isolated and high peaks; but I see no reason in the 
name, as I cannot even fancy any resemblance to his 
Satanic Majesty. At our left, all along the river flats, 
the rushes and meadow-grass are growing, and they 
look refreshingly cool, while close on our right are 
the harvested grain-fields. Mo.st of the grain is 
already on the way to the outer world, having 
started since we came down before; for they have 
a way here of reaping, thrashing and })utting into 
bags as the reapers go along the fields. This car 
is an old Silver Palace sleeper, and jogs so that I 
fear you cannot read my hieroglyphics. 

We have left the meadows now, and for some 
time hav'e been running through the San Joaquin 
Valley, and as far as the eye can see there is nothing 
but wheat, wheat, wheat, not yet reaped, which makes 
a most beautiful scene. But here we come in sight 
of the San Joaquin River, which runs down from 
the mountains hundreds of miles, and whose waters, 
though not transparent, are an improvement upon 
the boiling mud-puddings that we have invariably 
seen since leaving the East — except as we have 
passed the rushing torrents from the mountains. 



7' 

And now we are at Lathrop, where we stop for 
supper, and so I wish you a very good-night. 

Saturday morning, half-past four o'clock : I am 
dressed, and sit curled up in my berth, waiting for 
the laz}- to rise. We were to be awakened early, in 
time to see a \\onder in the way of engineering 
skill, as we shall cross the Tehichipa Mountains 
soon. Of course we are behind time, but the 
mountains are in sight in the distance, and as I look 
up I see that we are fast approaching the foot-hills, 
/am ready. I ought to have said before that this 
valley is as noted for its fertility as is the Santa Clara, 
this being devoted exclusively to grain — the other 
to fruit. Throughout the night we have been in 
the midst of wa\'ing fields. Now, however, all is 
changed. As we approach the hills, the old pecul- 
iarity of sedge grass, sage and )-ucca prexails, inter- 
.spersed with the beautiful sand-lily, a pure white 
flower, that is so coy that e\-en pressing causes its 
leaves to turn transparent and almost disappear. 
Now all begin to be astir. 

Eight o'clock: Well, the great loop, with its 
curves, and bow-knots, and tunnels is passed, and we 
are on the downward grade of the mountains. The 
scenery has been entirely different from any that we 
have witnessed. Although we are about 7000 feet 
high, we do not realize it, because the elevation has 



72 

been reached by such a circuitous and intricate way, 
without any very abrupt, tall peaks being seen. The 
formation of these mountains is also unique, inas- 
much as they are coated with a deposit from their 
own disintegration, which gives them almost the 
appearance of sand-hills covered with more or less 
verdure, composed principally of yucca and buck- 
eye. The latter is a beautiful tree, abounding in all 
this region, and quite profuse in its flowering, the 
long spikes of flowers being both pink and white. 
I ought to add that a great deal of this growth, 
mingled with live oak, is on the slopes leading down 
to the gulches, the hills being in most cases bare of 
flowers. The yuccas are now in bloom, the stalks 
growing ten or twelve feet high. 

Half-past eight: We have just had our breakfast, 
and the scene has changed. We have entered upon 
the Mojave Desert, one corner of which we cross for 
fifteen or twenty miles. The blue mountains are in 
the distance, and here and there ari.se abruptly 
buttes and curious hills, apparently of clay, one or 
two hundred feet high, and shaped exactly like 
pictures of volcanoes. The plain is covered with 
sage brush, and only broken by cactus-trees, which 
are scattered around. These cacti are very homely, 
scraggy, scaly and brown, till near the top, where 
green ends appear, each covered with white flowers. 



73 

Some of these trees are broken down and c^narly ; 
some are twenty and thirty feet high. 

I laid down my pencil at the last space and said: 
" I can have no more to say till out of this desert." 
Then we looked ahead and saw a large lake, but 
came no nearer to it, and finally it has melted away. 
Another, away up north, has appeared, and we 
understand now what a mirage of the desert is, and 
how easily the weary traveler may be lured on, only 
to be disappointed, when dying of thirst in the 
trackless deserts of the Eastern World. Gazing past 
where was this illusion in the south-east distance, I 
espy a snow-tipped mountain poking up between two 
spurs; but of him hereafter. I could write a good 
deal more about this desert, and how ver}^ exclusive 
the cactus-trees are, and how, when other varieties 
appear and other flowering shrubs, they retire; but 
I refrain, for you must be tired. 

Sunday evening : We arrived o)i time at Los 
Angeles yesterday at noon, and after dinner did up 
the town as far as time would permit. We have had 
many misgivings about the heat that we might 
encounter, but the temperature, owing to the late- 
ness of the rainy season, is delightful. I want to try 
your patience a little longer and go back to the 
last few miles of our journey prior to our entrance 
into town. Probably, unless as we return to San 



74 

Francisco, my eyes will never again rest upon so 
much strange loveliness. The desert was trans- 
formed into an Eden. No, not an Eden, for there 
were no trees. We emerged into what is called a 
pocket, between the mountains. On one side is the 
lofty San Bernardino Range, on the other the Coast 
Range, and this little valley is now one bewildering 
maze of bloom. First came the yuccas; nothing 
else as tall as they, and their spikes in some cases 
in this spot are fifteen feet high. They are never 
very near together — generally three or four rods 
apart; but as far as the eye can reach you see them 
— on the plain, up the mountain-sides, and along the 
line of vision on the tops of the hills, like sentinel 
pines sometimes with us. Then come the cacti of 
endless varieties, colors and shapes, except the tree 
form as farther up the plain. All these would be 
enough to dazzle the eye, but, besides, there are 
creeping and upright j^lants, such as I would give 
any amount of time and labor to gather and acquaint 
myself with, which present a most gorgeous display. 
But to come back to the town. Of course you 
kno\v what I did not, that all these old towns were 
first settled by the Spanish Fathers, sent out by the 
Bishop of Mexico about 1750. They established 
missions among the Indians at these places, and most 
of them are still maintained to some extent, though 



75 

the Carmelite mission at Monterey is in ruins, in 
spite of a great effort just now to resuscitate it. 
Here the Church of the Angels is kept open, and 
we looked in this morning, but did not sit out the 
service. Some of the early adobe, or sun-dried 
brick dwellings, are still here, and look quaint 
enough. The old town, surrounding a plaza, still 
remains, and is inhabited by Chinese. From this 
old square the modern city has spread to be one of 
thirty-five or forty thousand inhabitants. It is a 
very lively place, and is growing rapidly. A goodly 
number of wealthy people, who think they cannot 
live at the East, come here for their health, and their 
houses and grounds are beautiful. 

We drove through some fine places, and can 
imagine a little bit what a tropical clime may pro- 
duce by this semi-tropical one. All kinds of palm, 
pomegranate, fig, banana, olive and cocoanut-trees 
flourish; and then the orange and lemon-trees — but 
of them we shall see more to-morrow, when we go 
to Pasadena, ten miles out, where we hope to visit 
some of the groves on our way. And now I shall 
let your father speak. He sits on the piazza by my 
side, and has just said : " Do you realize where you 
are? I cannot. It seems like some Southern town, 
only livelier." 



76 

Los Angeles, Cal.. 

June 8th, 1886. 
Mv DEAR Children: 

Your mother's journal slips tell the story up 
to our arrival here and our first impressions of the 
town. In speaking of our journey hither she has 
omitted to mention the bees. We passed several 
bee ranches, which are located where the bees can 
feed on the sage blossoms, from which the}' make 
the white honey. 

Yesterday, we had a drive of some thirty-five 
miles to see the vineyards and orange groves. The 
oranges are mostly gathered, but still we had the 
pleasure of picking from the trees oranges, lemons 
and limes. We drove through several private places, 
among them that of Professor C, formerly State 
Superintendent of Schools, and were introduced to 
Mrs. C, who showed us about the place. They 
bought the ground eight years ago, when it was 
wild and covered with sage, cactus and wild mus- 
tard, but you would now suppose it to be a place 
that had been cultivated for generations. They 
have a hundred varieties of grapes and twenty of 
Japanese persimmons. They shipped this year five 
hundred boxes of oranges, etc., etc. Roses and 
other flowers are of infinite variety and in profusion. 
We went through another place where the lady has 
a hundred varieties of roses. 



77 

So we rode on through Pasadena to Sierra Madre 
Villa, of which I send you a picture, where we 
lunched. The house is close by the Sierra Madre 
Mountains, and overlooks the San Gabriel Valley, 
a charming, quiet, restful place. Then we drove 
down the valley, through Rose's ranch, where there 
are eighteen hundred acres of grapes, eighteen 
thousand orange -trees, a wine-press and vaults, etc., 
etc. We afterwards passed through a vineyard of 
three thousand acres, and then came to San Gabriel 
Mission, the oldest adobe church we have seen, 
built some two hundred years ago, with a flat tower 
pierced with arches, in which bells were hung. 
The village is mostly of old adobes, and mainly 
occupied as saloons. All were quiet enough as we 
saw them, but on Sundays, we were told, they are 
pretty busy with cock-fighting, bull-baiting and 
carousing, the population being very largely Spanish 
and Indian. 

We have seen growing, in addition to what I have 
mentioned, pomegranates, cocoanuts, dates, olives, 
figs, bananas, guava, and I hardly know what else, 
and have enjoyed oranges as never before. It 
takes but a short time to raise almost any green 
thing, and every plant grows so rapidly that it may 
be trimmed to assume almost any shape. Hedges 
of cypress, limes and many other shrubs are 



78 

abundant, and require constant trimming to keep 
them smooth. 

We have been fortunate in the weather. We 
expected to suffer with the heat, but have not done 
so at all. To-day is pretty warm, but the nights 
are cool, the fog coming up regularly from the 
ocean, which is twenty miles away. Rain and 
showers they never have from April to November, 
and there is plenty of dust, and will be more before 
the autumn rains set in. 

This afternoon we expect to leave this southern 
country for the Yo Semite, and thence to San Fran- 
cisco, where we hope to arrive Monday or Tuesday 
of next week. How much or how often you will 
hear from us en route remains to be seen. Well, as 
many fine and beautiful things as there are here, 
neither of us has the slightest inclination to exchange 
our own dear home for all that we have seen so far. 



Wednesday Morning, 

June gth, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

We parted from Mr. S. yesterday afternoon, 
much to our regret. At the beginning of our jour- 
ney, both of us, having never met, were a little anx- 
ious lest we should not prove congenial, though 
father had prophesied otherwise, and for about an 



79 

hour after he joined us at Albany we eyed each other 
shyly during the general conversation. As I arose 
the next morning and stepped out of my section, 
preparatory to making my grand toilet for the day, 
I confronted Mr. S., bent upon the same errand. 
We exchanged greetings, and I remarked, oi passant, 
" I trust we shall look better pretty soon." In the 
laugh which followed the ice was broken ; and it 
came out afterwards that later in the day he wrote 
to his wife: "She will do." I had said the equiva- 
lent to your father, and ever since our friendship 
has steadily increased. He leaves on the A. and P. 
road this morning for home. 

If things had progressed properly we should 
have left Los Angeles at ten minutes to one, but the 
train was five hours late, so we finally started at 
half-past five. We were rather glad, inasmuch as 
we should have been obliged to leave our car at 
Berenda at three o'clock in the morning for another 
to Raymond, the end of the road. But such a night 
as we have had we may as well laugh as cry over. 
Firstly, we are in an old Silver Palace sleeper, the 
accommodations of which are extremely limited, 
and secondly, with a hot box and nobody knows 
what else, we are seven and a half hours late. How- 
ever, we shall get some breakfast at the next station, 
and, if nothing further happens, reach Berenda about 



8o 

eleven o'clock, where we change cars for a ride of 
twenty-two miles, and then go by stage to Clark's, a 
distance of thirty-four miles. So you can imagine 
as well as I what a delightful day we have in 
prospect. But we are both feeling pretty well, for 
which I am devoutly thankful. Last night was the 
most trying that we have had. The heat was 
oppressive, and there was so much backing and 
filling that I got little sleep. We shall have a hard 
pull for the next five days, but we cannot expect to 
travel in this country without many discomforts ; if 
we do we shall be disappointed. 

This morning we have nothing to take us out of 
ourselves as I begin writing to my dear ones, who 
are now well on in their day's occupation. W. is 
at his office long ago, I suppose. Oh dear! how 
far we are from home. And I think if you were 
dragging over an abominable desert this hot and 
dusty morning, with nothing but an orange inside, 
you would think it a pleasant home, if never before. 
I do not .say this complainingly. It is only a neces- 
sar>^ incident to the kind of pleasure of which we 
are in pursuit, and it is a part we hear little about, 
because the greater good compen.sates for the lesser 
evils. Jack-rabbits and ground-squirrels are busy 
enough. I do not know how many I have seen 
skipping along like tiie \er\' mischief They are a 



great nuisance where there is anything of value, 
but I do not see what they can hve on here. Father 
says: "Put up your writing." Order is heaven's 
first law; obedience next. 

Breakfast is over with, such as it was. Now you 
need not be pitying )'our father. He is having a 
good time, and I have not uttered a complaining 
word since I left home. Mr. S. said yesterday that 
he could truthfully say that he never saw a lady who 
bore the inconveniences of travel with such equa- 
nimit)'! I expect you will imagine that this bodes 
ill in some way. You just hear once how the 
women do go on, and you will conclude that you 
have quite a decent mother. My discipline in the 
Maine woods tells in this country. This place, 
where we breakfasted, is Tulare City, a little burg 
set down" flat on the plain, for we are in the 
Joaquin Valley again. Oh jo\'! The grain-fields 
appear, most of them in stubble, and the live-oaks 
.spread themselves all about singly, not unlike our 
elms, and in the distance we see the woods. The 
Joaquin River is just ahead; the irrigation com- 
mences ; the worst of this day's car ride is over. 

Half-past ten o'clock: Just arrived at Berenda 
and changed cars, instead of at seven o'clock. The 
passengers are pretty glum for having waited 
so long. They propose to detain the stage until 



82 

to-morrow in order to see the big trees. IVe expect 
to see them as we come back, and have seats 
engaged to go on. We heard so many growls that 
finally I laughed and told them that 7c>c- had waited 
seven and a half hours, but we were not to blame. 
Whereat all seem amused and happy. The car 
passengers consist of four ladies, with no escort. I 
hope one who keeps up a constant change of seats 
and silly chatter wi// stay back. " How can you 
keep still? I can't." Another move. "Oh dear! I 
am so sorry to lose the trees. Oh, what a lot of 
cinders ! I wonder if it is going to be hot up there? " 
And so on, ad infinite in. 

Twelve o'clock: Sitting in front of tent at Ray- 
mond. Stage just arrived from the Yo Semite. One 
young lady is sorry she went in. " Stage route awful ; 
went on no trails; too much disgusted." We shall 
see. We are ready to load up. I expect to go 
through all right. Good-bye. 

Thursday afternoon : We arrived at Clark's by 
stage at a quarter-past nine Wednesday night, having 
ridden through thirty-four miles of sublime and pict- 
uresque scenery. The road, for a stage route, is a 
good one, if I confine myself to the road-bed, which 
must have tested the skill of the engineer almost as 
much as the railroad through the mountains of 
Colorado. Getting into this valley is totally different 



83 

from what I had imagined. I had supposed that 
we were to pass through a rough, intricate path on 
the floor of a cafion. Instead of that, our way hes 
upon the sides of mountains all the way, and gain- 
ing in altitude between 5000 and 6000 feet, till 
Inspiration Point is reached, from wdience we 
descend at a reasonable rate of speed. In the mean- 
time we reached Clark's — the last two and a half 
hours by moonlight. A never-to-be-forgotten expe- 
rience. The pines have for a long way back- 
reigned supreme monarchs of the forest, with little 
undergrowth, except wild lilacs, our northern box- 
wood and some other flowering shrubs, which fill 
the air with their sweetness. Fortunately, we 
gained confidence in our driver early in the day, 
and were whirled around the most astonishing 
curves and climbed circuitous hills beside the most 
precipitous chasms with commendable composure. 

After a great deal of scrubbing and a strengthen- 
ing beverage we retired and slept the sleep of the 
weary, if not of the just. In the morning we arose 
and breakfasted in time to resume travel at seven 
o'clock. Of course there was no great difference 
in our plan of progress from yesterday. We were 
creeping up, up most of the time, our views in the 
openings becoming grander, and the pines growing 
larger and larger, till they were generally rated a 



84 

hundred, a hundred and fifty, a hundred and sev^enty- 
five and two hundred feet high, proportionately large 
at the base, and straight as an arrow, their tops 
seeming to pierce into the intense blue of the heav- 
ens. Then we went on and on, till at length we 
reached the point where we halted to gaze into 
the valley far below us, and, above and over all, to 
look, perhaps, upon the w ildest and grandest sight in 
the world. To .see is to appreciate; to describe is 
impossible. Perhaps your father can do better. He 
has gone to-day to Glacier Point and Sentinel Dome 
by trail, to look, I believe, over half the world. I 
wanted very much to go; but the morning is hot, 
and, though I mounted and rode a little distance, 
prudence gained the day, and I returned, fearing for 
my head, as the trail up the mountain-side is in the 
broiling sun. Before that attempt, however, we 
arose at five o'clock, and at six were off with a 
party to Mirror Lake, which lies at the head of the 
valley, and into which is reflected the amphitheatre 
of mountains, with their jagged and frowning crests, 
as well as their rounded, unique and fanciful forms. 
Over one of the latter the sun arose, revealing in its 
brightness and reflections forms and foliage over 
and beyond what we could otherwise see, and giving 
pine-trees which were near the brink the appearance 
of being covered with glistening snow. By moving 



85 

we saw this a few seconds each time, and after the 
third change of place we rowed out on the lake for 
the same effect, and for shadows in another direction. 
Even the flag on Glacier Point showed distinctly, 
although the height is 3200 feet above the lake. 

I have forgotten to tell you of the cascades and 
water-falls. We passed several of them on our way 
into the valley. The Bridal Veil is a beauty. The 
sheet of water does not look so very wide, but is so 
immensely high that long before it reaches the foot it 
spreads, in appearance, into the most delicate vapor, 
and the spray reaches us as we pass into the valley. 
A foaming torrent comes from this fall, which we 
cross by a high bridge over the rapids. Last night 
we rode down to see a mo.st beautiful rainbow, which 
forms in the midst of the spray every evening. As 
I sit at my window and look across a quarter of a 
mile, the Yo Semite Fall comes tumbling down a 
distance of 2600 feet. This is broken once by fall- 
ing into a pool, and then it tumbles again. One 
thing is peculiar about this and the Bridal Veil. 
Portions of the water have the singular appearance 
of exploded rockets, which come down in serpent 
shapes, making a very fascinating scene, on which I 
could sit and look forever. 

Five o'clock: Your father has just come in, 
worn and saddle-weary. He thinks I was wise to 



86 

stay at home. But he says he has witnessed a 
never-to-be-forgotten sight. A fellow-traveler has 
been in the Alps and the Andes, and he does 
not believe there is a visitable spot its equal in the 
world. The usual Alps and Andes tourists abound, 
and all freely ventilate their ideas and make their 
comparisons. I will own that when I first came into 
the valley the immensity of the place was somewhat 
dimmed by a remembrance of the great Arkansas 
Canon and the Black Canon, but it grows upon 
me. In the former there is only room for the 
walls, and track, and river ; here the valley averages 
a mile in width, with a lake, rivers from the different 
cascades, cultivated fields, two parallel streets, three 
hotels and two stores, and the State is now making 
arrangements to erect on a plateau a hotel of com- 
fortable dimensions, with modern improvements. 
So it is said that this canon is not to be compared 
with any other known. To-morrow we leave early 
for Clark's. 

Sunday evening: A good part of our valley trip 
is ended. We are at Clark's, where we arrived 
yesterday noon. After lunch we drove nine miles 
to Mariposa Grove and back. The big trees father 
will tell you about, as he is writing in the office. 
As we shall not post this letter till we are safely 
out, I will .say that nobody should attempt to make 



87 

this trip unless they are good mountain travelers, 
both as regards endurance and trust in your team 
and driver. You can imagine this when you realize 
that the road is only wide enough for the wagon, with 
an occasional spot to turn out when meeting others. 
A great part of the way lies on the edge of frown- 
ing precipices, hundreds of feet deep. The curves 
are innumerable, and mostly built up with stones on 
the canon side, which are firm enough, to be sure, 
and, if nothing happens, all right ; but, if anything 
should occur, you are in great peril. This season, 
two weeks ago, one horse got to kicking, and that 
bewitched the others; the driver's strength gave 
out, and he said to the lady on the seat with him : 
"For God's sake help me!" Her presence of mind 
and strength saved the party, though one lady had 
a broken leg, and one is still in the valley too ill 
to get away, and has sued the company for dam- 
ages. Then again, it was not so very pleasant to 
have pointed out, in passing, the three pines where, 
three years ago, the stage was stopped by masked 
robbers and seven men robbed of two thousand 
dollars and four gold watches. Our driver was 
the driver then. Up in the valley the subject was 
discussed, when some one asked the hotel pro- 
prietor about the other road in from Milton. 
"Oh," said he, "this is the best by all means; it 



88 

is thirty miles shorter, is less dusty, and robberies 
are three to one there! The proper way is to carry 
little, and deliver up if attacked." Quite encour- 
aging! So you see, aside from the expense, one 
visit to the Yo Semite is an undertaking of some 
magnitude. But I would not have missed the ride. 
I should go once, because I am so fond of mount- 
ain travel, and you know it nev^er tires me. Yes- 
terday we drove forty-four miles, and I could have 
gone farther just as well; whereas the same time 
in the cars wearies me dreadfully. I must now 
stop and put things in readiness for to-morrow's 
stage ride of thirty-four miles. 

Tell Mrs. W. that I have thought of her many 
times on our way in. More than once your father 
said: "What would Mrs. W. and F. do? If they 
came to Colorado they could never come here." 
Over the last two miles into the valley, even / held 
my breath, and clung to your father with the grip 
of despair. I must stop. A loving good-bye to 
each. 



89 
Big Tree Station, Wawona, Cal., 

Sunday Afternoon, June ijtJt, iSS6. 
My dear Children: 

Your mother's journal letter will give you 
pretty full details of our doings since we left Los 
Angeles, and you will see that we had a pretty full 
week. The stage ride into the Yo Semite was a 
dusty one, and people not used to staging find it 
a pretty hard one, but we enjoyed it very much. 
The scenery is fine, differing from New England 
mountain scenery in a sense of largeness, if you 
can understand what that means. Your mother 
has given you her impressions of the valley, and 
I will only add that yesterday morning, after visiting- 
Mirror Lake and seeing the beautiful reflections, 
especially of the rising sun, I started on horseback 
for Glacier Point and Sentinel Dome. I was well 
repaid for my trip, though I came home tired and 
sore from my horseback journey of eleven and 
a half miles up and down the steep mountain-side. 
I shall never forget the views I had as I looked 
down into the valley and upon the cascades falling 
into it, and saw the shadows away down in Mirror 
Lake, and then looked up and off upon the snow- 
covered mountains, the source of supply for all 
these water-falls. 



90 

Yesterday we took the stage at six o'clock and 
came this far back, and in the afternoon visited 
the big trees. These do not at first impress one 
with their immensity, surrounded as they are by 
mammoth pines, many of which are 200 feet in 
height, and of a size and freedom from knots to 
make a lumberman's mouth water. Still, the larg- 
est one is 105 feet in circumference. The road 
runs through the body of another, which we drove 
through in a four-horse stage, and there is plenty 
of the tree on each side to keep it alive and flour- 
ishing for ages. 

We are not sorry to rest here for a day, though 
it is not the easiest thing in the world to do, as the 
stage connections are made for every day, and seats 
secured, which the passenger is expected to occupy 
both days of the trip. However, we have arranged 
it, and some eight or ten of us have .stopped over. 
This morning your mother and I had a long walk ; a 
good deal longer than we intended, for we missed 
the path which we ought to have taken and fol- 
lowed another for a long way. Still, it was delight- 
ful among the trees and flowers. We are in the 
midst of Washburns here. There are three broth- 
ers, cousins of Mrs. H., and, of course, kinsmen 
of ours. Two of them keep this hotel, and the 
third is Superintendent of the stage line. You can 



91 

tell Mr. H. that they all inquire about him with 
interest. 

This afternoon Mr. Washburn sent a team with 
us to Chindualdo Falls, a succession of beautiful 
cascades, which, if they were farther away from the 
Yo Semite, travelers would go out of their way to 
visit. We have found many pleasant stage com- 
panions; among others Professor Bruce, of Glasgow, 
whom I shall hope to see in New York, if he does 
not finish his tour and leave before I get back. 
There are also others not so pleasant ; one a woman 
who constantly reminds me of Solomon's proverb : 
" It is better to dwell in the corner of the house-top 
than with a brawling woman and in a wide house." 
I told your mother I should like to put a plaster 
over her mouth, if I thought I could make it stick. 
She is the one we met at Berenda, and she has 
been our stage and hotel companion ever since. 
We shall be only too glad when our ways lie sepa- 
rate again. 

Last night there was a frost here ; a great change 
in the weather from the day before, or from any- 
thing we have experienced very lately; but the air 
is clear and fine. Indeed, we should be glad to see 
a little rain, even if it forced us to change some of 
our plans, for we have not seen a drop since we left 
home, the nearest approach to it being a Scotch 



92 

mist one morning in San Francisco. I suppose we 
shall have enough, however, in Oregon, where Cali- 
fornians say it rains thirteen months in the year. 
We are dirty creatures, the dust being ground into 
our clothes so that we cannot get them clean. This 
soil is very fine, and it is now two months or more 
since there has been even a shower; so you can 
imagine that in a stage ride of sixty miles each 
way (add eighteen more for the trip to Big Trees, 
and also my horse-back ride) we are pretty well 
begrimed. Still, we keep well, and for this we 
cannot be too thankful, nor for our preservation 
from harm by any dangers of travel to which we 
have been exposed. 



On the Cars, 

June ijth, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

We are well out of the valley and bound 
for San Francisco. The ride by coach to-day was 
full of interest, for in returning many beautiful 
views were presented which were overlooked in 
going the other way. We have not yet quite lost 
sight of the snow-capped mountains, which are 
left behind forever, and to which I extend a .sad 
good-bye, for the sight of them in their grandeur 



93 

and wild magnificence has given father and me 
the greatest pleasure. And now we are in the 
hot and dusty plain again. The thermometer is 
ninety-three degrees in the shade, with not a tree 
or shrub to relieve the monotony. This morning 
we arose at three o'clock and took the stage at 
four, in all our w^arm wraps and heavy shawls. 
Uncomfortably hot is no name for it here; but we 
are safe and well, after a laborious and rather peril- 
ous journey, for which we ought to be devoutly 
thankful. How people can live on these hot, burn- 
ing plains, without a shade, I cannot imagine. Life 
in this way would have few charms for me. O for 
one rainy day ! — one shower even. Can you imagine 
what dreadful dust we encounter? No, you cannot, 
for you never saw anything approaching it. Our 
thirst is intolerable, and we do not dare to drink. I 
sit with a piece of borax in my mouth, to alleviate 
the parched throat. I shall not be surprised if this 
proves our hottest day, as we go north pretty soon. 
Still, in going to the geysers we pass through the 
torrid Napa Valley. I believe, though, that the 
Napa is fruit-growing. If so, we shall see some- 
thing besides wheat and stubble to gladden the eye. 
Half-past four o'clock: Oh joy! The San Joaquin 
River is reached. The live oaks appear. The Coast- 
line Mountains are in sight, and each mile we go 



94 

brings us nearer our haven for the night, as well as 
into a cooler atmosphere. Indeed, we already feel 
some relief. You had better discard the bad impres- 
sions conveyed in this scrawl. The pleasurable 
experiences of this trip far — very far — exceed the 
disagreeable. 



Palace Hotel, San Franclsco, 

June IS til, 1886. 
My dear Children : 

We arrived la.st night safe and well, but pretty 
tired and dreadfully dirty. I will add but a few 
lines to my long letter of Sunday. The weather 
here is so different from our home climate that we 
do not realize that it is the middle of June, and that 
it is time for New Yorkers to think of going into the 
country. It is true that in southern California and 
in the San Joaquin Valley it was hot — oppressively 
so — but here it has been quite cool enough for com- 
fort, and almost every night a fire in the reception- 
room of the hotel has been a veiy pleasant sight. 
To-night we are putting things in order, as we leave 
in the morning for the geysers, a three-days' trip, 
from which we shall return here on Friday. 

And now I will .say good-night. Your mother 
sends love to you both, and says you need not 
expect any more such long letters from her as of 



95 

late, for she is sure you will not care to wade through 
them (I know better than that) ; but it beguiles the 
weariness of car riding to tell you where we are and 
what we are doing-. 



Wednesday Morning, 

June i6th, 1886. 
Mv DEAR Children : 

We were refreshed yesterday by the letters 

from home. I should love to see little Grace firmly 

walking about and practicing her housekeeping. 

How pretty she must look with her little maiden 

ways. I do not think she will know us on our 

return. 

You see we are on the cars again. Yes, we are 
en route for the geysers — not so much to see those 
phenomena as the country leading to them, since 
your father wants to get a general idea of all this 
section. We are told that those in the Yellowstone 
are so far grander that these are scarcely worth 
while going to see. I hardly know how I am to- 
day, but probably am feeling the effect of the 
extreme heat in the cars during our Yo Semite 
trip. The change to San Francisco air was great. 

We started on this pilgrimage at half-past seven 
o'clock; it is now half-past ten, and at twelve we 
expect to change for a stage ride. We are on an 



96 

entirely new route, going north. The first two hours 
were stupid enough, as we were passing through 
a narrow valley of sand, and there was not a speck 
of anything not burnt up by the drought and sun. 
I suppose the worst is over, for we are where the 
live oaks appear (God bless them), as do also vine- 
yards and orchards. It seems that this strip is 
divided into Petaluma, Santa Rosa and Russian 
River Valleys. It is considered a portion of great 
pride to the State, on account of its fertility, and 
I may see something that would induce me to live 
here, but, as at present advised, nothing would tempt 
me, unless obliged, to do so. We have just passed 
a large vineyard, but the grapes are sour. Your 
father says my eye is crooked to-day; it is full of 
dust and dirt, and this car jolts so that I cannot 
write. We have passed through Petaluma and 
Healdsburg, towns of some pretension. At the lat- 
ter place is a Second Advent college, where, I 
believe, they make ministers. 

The geysers, four o'clock: We arrived here a 
few moments ago; have brushed up and are sitting 
on a shady piazza, in one of the most romantic 
spots in the world. At Cloverdale we took dinner, 
and immediately commenced the climb to this 
nook. Our way lay alongside a cafion all the time, 
but entirely different from any that we have seen. 



97 

California presents more xariety of landscape, more 
curious formations and combinations of foliage, 
rocks, sand, mountains, etc., than one can imagine. 
This ravine is bounded by high, undulating mount- 
ains, which rise gradually one above the other, parti)' 
bare, and some covered with sun-burnt grass; oth- 
ers have the appearance of sun-burnt sand, down 
which, long ago, something has trickled, and 
scooped out deep channels, striping and discol- 
oring the surface. Rut intermingled with all this 
are trees of almost every kind, I should think, from 
the tall and stately ones to scrubby oaks and beau- 
tiful shrubs. The buckeye is in full bloom, and fills 
the air with its perfume and its wealth of flowers. 
The calacanthus, or, with us, the .strawberry shrub, 
lines the road here, where it grows to the size of a 
tree, and is also in blossom; and one more I will 
mention — the holly; not the English, but a shrub- 
tree, which bears white branches of flowers, some- 
what like our lilacs. There were but few rocks, 
though we drove between t\\o, called the Devil's 
Gate, and passed another, very isolated and ragged, 
known as Eagle Rock. 

I must tell you that this road is built on the slope 
of the mountain, and all along we look into the 
abyss below, most of the way three and four hun- 
dred feet down, where flows a rumblinc roarinc 



98 

stream. One spot, called Devil's Slide, is eight 
hundred feet straight down, and there are not six 
inches between us and the brink! I am getting 
hardened, however. There is one comfort : nothing 
that we can encounter in this line of travel can be 
worse. Your father said this afternoon that this 
was as bad as anything he ever wished to see. Now 
I must go to supper. The ride has helped me, and 
I am feeling very fresh. 

Thursday afternoon: This morning we arose at 
five o'clock, dressed for the occasion, and, with the 
guide, started at six o'clock for Geyser Canon, which 
is the awfulest spot I ever saw. It is supposed that 
there was once a crater where, or nearly where, the 
present disturbance is. It seems as though, if I 
were standing on the top of any one of the hills, 
or rather mountains, which encircle this spot, I 
could easily imagine myself looking over into what 
might at any moment burst into flame; for the sides 
are covered with melted rocks and lava; the steam 
is rising through innumerable fissures; the springs 
all along are boiling in their fury; we walk over 
both the hard and melted lava, into which we can 
at times plunge our sticks down to any length; we 
listen and hear the rumbling and gurgling under 
and all around us, and as we pass over one appar- 
ently solid place the crust yields and shakes, as 



99 

though the partition between us and we know not 
what was very sHght. Melted conglomerate rocks, 
that have been thrown out, lie all about; and one or 
two pools, belching out inky fluid, remind one that 
there are infernal regions, and those not so very 
far away. 

The springs are iron, sulphur, soda, Epsom salt, 
alum, magnesia, beside one hot lemonade spring (so 
called) of tartaric acid. The Witches' Caldron is 
a basin about six feet by three, and is boiling with 
rage, the temperature being three hundred degrees. 

The hotel is a Swiss chalet, perched on the side 
of the mountain, opposite the geyser chasm; and 
on the cool, vine-shaded piazza we sit side by side — 
your father reading up this place, and I writing my 
impressions of the horrible spot, on which, across the 
ravine a few rods away, I look and see the steam 
rising in the sun, as it hisses up from the miserable 
depths where we wandered. Here we intend to rest 
to-day for a novelty, and to-morrow morning leave 
by the other route through the Napa Valley. 

Friday morning : We are now on the piazza, wait- 
ing for the wagon to take us to Calistoga; thence 
we go by rail to San Francisco. We have enjoyed 
ourselves here right well, and feel rested for another 
start. The cafion seems more alive to-day than 
yesterday, and the smoke, or steam, forms quite a 



lOO 

cloud; the sulphur fumes reach us also. I declare, 
I am as near to his Satanic Majesty as I ever wish 
to be! It seems as if the eternal fires were about 
to open uj). 

Calistoga, half-past two o'clock: Have just had 
dinner and are awaiting the cars to take us back to 
San Francisco. We have had a most delightful drive 
to this place, and as we have parted company and 
acquaintance with our coachman, I wish to introduce 
him to you — Mr. Charley Foss. He is a character 
in these parts, and well known as the best driver 
on the Pacific coast, as was his father before 
him. We were fortunate to be here on his day to 
drive, and this was the first time that we occupied 
outside seats, which we did in order to ride with 
Charley Foss. He owns a great part of the road 
and knows every stone in it. There is not a tree, 
or shrub, or flower of any kind of which he does not 
know the name, the family to which it belongs, 
its genus and structure, peculiar habits and quali- 
ties, and he talks as earnestly of them all as though 
he were an educated botanist. But what a whip 
he is! We came over a frightful road the first 
fifteen miles, yet he inspired me with i)erfect con- 
fidence in a few minutes. He speaks to his hor.ses 
as though they were his children, calling them each 
by name, and they obey his voice with more alacrity 



lOI 

than some children do their parents. Rut oh! the 
way we came bounding around the hair-pin curves 
and down the decHvities was a caution to timid peo- 
ple. Crack! goes the whip. "Sam, you scoundrel, 
what are you so lazy for? Dolly, keep up with your 
old man. Steady, Bella!" And when we took a 
flying leap in the air — "Rise, wicked sinners, rise!" 

The scenery for the first twenty miles was wild, 
imposing and romantic. Every mountain within 
sight, however, was pointed out and named, the 
beauties of every glen were commented upon, atten- 
tion was called to every imaginative profile in rock 
or on far-away mountain, negro melodies were sung 
with all their natural pathos and fervor, and finally 
the English dude tourist was taken off till we all 
laughed nearly to exhaustion. Such has been our 
morning, but we are now whirling on again with 
the steam horse in command, not half so pleasant 
or entertaining. 

Later: We find by reference to the map that we 
have already traveled through a large part of Cali- 
fornia, certainly the best part, and probably this Napa 
Valley is equal to any in richness of soil and culti- 
vation, though Santa Clara and Los Angeles Coun- 
ties lay claim to rivalry. The productions differ 
materially, as this Napa Valley is too far north for 
orange and semi-tropical fruit and nut culture, 



I02 

but it has the advantage of a large and navigable 
river, the Napa, flowing through it as far as Napa 
City, which was the means of communication 
between that city and San Francisco before the rail- 
road came. This is turned to good account, being 
drawn upon for irrigation; hence, with the fine soil, 
crops are bountiful and very remunerative. The 
vineyards stretch away at times as far as the eye can 
reach. 

We frequently pass large wineries. The dwellings 
are mostly mansions of pretension, situated per- 
haps in the middle or rear of the grounds, and are 
surrounded by trees and hedges, with broad ave- 
nues leading to the street which are also lined with 
evergreens, sometimes trimmed in arches and other 
fanciful shapes. It really seems as though one might 
live here, if it would only rain occasionally. We are 
almost at North Vallejo, the centre of a large lum- 
ber trade, \vhich commodity (the red-wood lumber) 
is shipped to all parts of the world. 

Five o'clock : We have now crossed San Pablo 
Bay and passed by Mare Island on ferry-boat, en 
route for Oakland, where we cross again for San 
Francisco, and then our visit to the geysers will 
have come to an end. However much we may see 
yet in our wanderings, the awful scene of that oozing 
pit will never be effaced. 



103 

Palace Hotel, San Franclsco, 

June i<pt/i, i8S6. 
My dear Children: 

We arrived last evening", pretty well tired by 
our trip to the geysers, but feeling well repaid, for 
it was very enjoyable. By rail we passed through 
two fruitful valle)'s and by stage through a most 
wonderful gorge, following the Pluton River for 
some twenty miles, above and below the geysers, as 
it flows down the Mayacama Mountains. As your 
mother has written you, the road is a narrow one, 
on the side of the gorge, and a wild one it is, with 
such short and narrow turns on the edge of the 
precipice as you never saw, and can hardly imagine. 
Some of them have such names as " Hair-pin Turn," 
" Door-knob Turn," " Letter S," etc., etc.. and the 
way our four horses scampered down the hills and 
around these turns would be a terror to weak 
nerves. Your mother says the pictures she has 
seen in Harper s and other pictorials, of stages com- 
ing down the mountains at full gallop, she always 
thought were exaggerated, if not wholly imaginary, 
but they represent only sober facts. 

The geysers are not really geysers at all, but 
what remains of an old volcano, and the walk about 
them and over the ground is just like walking in 
the crater of a volcano not in eruption, as travelers 



I04 

describe it, except that it has not the crater shape. 
We have the same minerals, heat, steam and smells. 
And here we are back at the Palace Hotel, where 
^ve miss Mr. S. more than anywhere else, for here 
he was with us all the time, and it really seems a 
little lonesome without him. 



Tuesday, June 2 2d, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

We bid good-bye to San Francisco early this 
morning, and, having been joined at Oakland by 
Mr. M., are now on our way to the unknown. 
So far we have come over the same route that we 
came in on, via Alameda and Contra Costa Coun- 
ties, but at Davis, where we have just had our dinner, 
we branched off, leaving Sacramento River and City 
at our right. As we launch forth again and take a 
retrospective glance, we can but feel grateful for the 
many pleasures that have gladdened our path, as 
well as for the watchful care that has preserved us 
through dangers by the way, and for the measure of 
health that we both enjoy. It is seven weeks to-day 
since we left home, not knowing what should befall 
us. For all these mercies we give thanks. 

Our way for some time, I believe, will run through 
the fertile Sacramento Valley; indeed, the water- 
tanks and windmills jjive sure indication of labor and 



I05 

thrift. We are passing in the midst of vineyards of 
vast extent, as you may judge when I say that we are 
on a plain, and, turn which way I will, I see nothing 
but \ines covering the ground, for, since they are 
allowed to grow only three or four feet high, with no 
support, as the twigs spread out they reach their 
neighbors and cling to them, thus forming an almost 
continuous whole. They are all trimmed close to the 
trunk every season; hence every sprout or bearer is 
new growth. Some of the stumps are very large, 
according to the age of the vineyards. The winer- 
ies on the places are a feature also. The dwelling- 
houses and ornamental grounds amid the fields 
indicate that the owners are rich. Do >'ou know 
what the oleander is? It grows here in some of the 
gardens surrounding the houses, in trees, not only 
the pink \ariety, but also the white as well, which 
blend, or rather contrast finely, and make a great 
show, being covered with bunches of blossoms. We 
are in an ordinary car and over the wheels, making it 
almost impossible to write. It is very hot, but there 
is air enough stirring to cover me with soot and 
ashes, as it comes through an open window beside 
an obstinate old fuss, who, I almost hope, will burn 
a small hole in her dress, which may induce her to 
close it. It would be quite a serious matter to 
have my light, inflammable duster take fire. We 



To6 

have a long car ride before us — all day long in fact, 
but I am getting used to that. 

Half-past two o'clock : We are in a fiery furnace. 
Thermometer at the last station one hundred and 
four degrees in the shade. Our vineyards ended 
long ago, and we see nothing but grain and stubble. 
The machines cut off the top of the straw only, 
leaving the stubble high, which glistens in the hot 
sun, making it seem seven times hotter as it reflects 
into the car. 

Later: What we have seen for miles and miles is 
a sea of wheat. Will there ever be another famine ? 
Once in several miles there is a house, away off in 
the fields, with some eucalyptus-trees around it and 
a ivi)idiiiill. The homes are evidently too far off for 
the reapers to live in while reaping, for alongside of 
the machines are little houses on wheels, where I 
.see cooking going on. There is no carting the 
rough material. A steam engine goes along, and a 
steam thrasher thrashes out the wheat, and another 
movement winnows and hu.stles it into the bags in 
which it is shipped. It lies in the bags on the field 
at the convenience of the owner, without any fear of 
harm. We have come through a good many little 
stopping-places, and at all the stations the indica- 
tions were that everything and everybody is in some 
way in business appertaining to wheat and its storage 



I07 

till such a time as tiic railroad can forward it. 
The valley here, which is simply a continuation of 
the Sacramento, has been fifty or sixty miles wide, 
but it is narrowing. In the remote distance I .see 
mountains, and very, very far away, two white, 
snow-capped peaks loom up. As we shall cross the 
river (Sacramento) in about half an hour, we are led 
to expect a cooler belt. However, I have not suffered 
as much as some who seem almost exhausted. Live 
oaks appear now pretty plentifuU}-, sprinkled among 
the wheat-fields. I always take pleasure in noticing 
them, for they usually are the harbingers of good. 
I should not wonder if the worst of this day's heat 
were over. 

The Sierra Nevada Mountains have been a wonder 
and a joy to me from the first; none the less so this 
colossal peak in the far north-east, which can be 
.seen rearing its head into the intense blue of the 
heavens, and covered with its eternal crown of snow, 
gleaming in the sun. I am sure one can endure 
heat and almost any other discomfort in order to 
view these great handiworks of the Creator. Oh ! 
oh ! oh ! Mt. Shasta comes into view. I care little 
for the other now, if its shape is like Mt. Vesuvius, 
even to its crater-looking top. 

Mt. Shasta .stands alone, with only two foot-hills 
in front, and is all snow-covered. It looks from 



io8 

here to be the highest mountain that I have seen. 
If Pike's Peak is higher, so is the plain from which 
it rises, and it does not look so. This is 14,500 
feet, and that is enough. I shall see more of it 
to-morrow, when, I believe, we drive within ten 
miles or so of its base. We have come into a 
rolling countr}', and are going up grade. I hope 
that we shall not get so high as to spoil the effect 
of the mountain. Now Pike's Peak is over 14,000 
feet high from the sea; but what has the sea to do 
with it when 3000 miles away? Fairly, a mountain 
should be measured from its base. I do not want 
to calculate how high my own stand-point is. That 
has nothing to do with the appearance of the 
mountain proper. I once .said : " Pike's Peak does 
not look 14,000 feet high." "Oh, but }'ou must 
remember that you are up more than 7000 feet." 
I did remember; but it did not raise l*ike's Peak 
seemingly for all that, though a grand mountain 
it is. 

Evening: Arrived at the end of the railroad at 
seven o'clock, and found driver and team awaiting 
us. He has come from some little distance. Imagine 
us in the commonest kind of log cabin, with a tall 
weed or plant of some kind growing through 
the cracks just outside our bed-room door. Our 
room has a bit of carpet; the rest of the slianty 



I09 

has bare boards. Wc have not )'et supped, but are 
coohng ourselves on the httle porch. There are 
mountains all around us, and just over the ledge 
we hear the murmur of the Sacramento River, 
where its head-waters rush and roar over the rocks, 
as they have done for the last fifty or sixty miles. 

There are other shanties and sheds in this glen 
around us, but the post office is in our building. In 
the parlor there are one small pine table, two 
wooden chairs and an iiprigJit piano, which is open, 
with a piece of music stretched upon the rack ! 
The flies number some millions, but they are the 
only living animals that I have seen. 

Castle Rock Station, Wednesday noon : We 
arrived here about eleven o'clock and have not yet 
dined. I snatch a moment to talk with my loved 
ones far away. For various reasons I slept little 
last night, and arose at four o'clock this morning, 
dressed, breakfasted, and was ready at six o'clock 
for the first installment of our ride to Oregon. Our 
road has lain along the sides of the mountains and 
overlooking the Sacramento River. At no place 
has it seemed dangerous when we had the right of 
way; but we had to dismount three times when 
passing teams, and once we came upon one on a 
curve suddenly, where neither could back, and it 
was on the steepest spot that we have passed to-day. 



I lO 

The horses behaved admirably. Our two cramped 
all their feet and clung to the bank, while the two 
off wheels hung over the chasm, the wagon holding 
on by the nigh wheels, while the loaded team-wagon 
grazed the inner bank, and thus they passed. Of 
course we were out, huddled close to the back of 
our vehicle. The hills and mountains have assumed 
a new aspect from those we have been seeing. They 
are covered with verdure, and, showers occurring 
occasionally among them, the grass is green. We 
have come all the morning through pines inter- 
mingled with green underwood, and the whole 
region is very wild. One road only leads to Oregon, 
and this is encumbered thus far very often by loaded 
team-wagons transporting supplies to the various 
railroad camps; for the Southern Pacific (Oregon 
Division) is now being extended to within a couple 
of miles of this point. In consequence of this we 
have had rather an exciting ride. We were told 
at Delta that our chief danger to-day would consist 
in our near proximity to the blasting. We thought 
we started early enough to get by before the blasts 
were exploded, but such was not our good fortune, 
notwithstanding my having spied a horseshoe with 
three nails and insisted upon its being lifted into the 
wagon! We arrived at three different spots just as 
they were going off We were warned, however, in 



1 1 1 

time, and the horses, being slow-pokes, were not at 
all frightened, so we escaped without harm, and the 
driver said the horseshoe brought good luck after 
all. The road is being built by the Celestials. It 
was a prett)' sight to look down upon their city of 
tents, in three divisions, and some distance from 
each other, nestled in among the rocks and trees. 
It reminded me of war times. 

Old Shasta has loomed up occasionally in the 
openings, and one grand view presented itself We 
had seen none but verdure-clad mountains during 
the morning, as I said, when all at once there burst 
into sight, just in advance, a most eccentric spur of 
barefaced rock, extending, I should think, for some 
fi\'e miles, and perfectly isolated. It had all the 
appearance in miniature of the eastern portion of 
the Yo Semite, except one ivJiolc dome, which came 
first at the right; then a half dome; next Sentinel 
and Cathedral Rocks. There they ran down and 
stopped. These peaks are perhaps one-third as 
high as the Yo Semite Mountains, and present the 
appearance of an immense castle. 

We now find that this station, where we dine, is 
named Castle Rock, in honor of this unique and 
grand freak of nature. 

After supper: Nothing eventful happened in our 
afternoon ride. We arrived at this place, Sisson's, 



1 12 

at half-past five. The distance traveled to-day 
was thirty-eight miles. The road reminds me of 
the one into Mud Pond, leaving out the corduroy, 
though there are a few places better than any there. 
They say it will be still smoother to-morrow. This 
is a famous trout and game centre. Your father 
sighs after the big stories are told, but .says it is too 
far away from home for him. I am going to bring 
up Mt. Shasta again. We are right under his 
shadow, nine miles away. In this rarefied air it 
seems not one. He is a monster, and has been a 
very violent one, for the whole country round is 
underlaid with lava thrown out in his ebulli- 
tions of rage. The later crater is not at the highest 
point, but is on a separate cone, a little down and 
to the left, as we .see it from here. The glaciers, of 
which there are three, lie on the north side and 
opposite from us. I only wish we could see them. 
He stands alone and I appreciate his height, for he 
is more than ii,ooo feet higher than we are. A 
boiling .spring is on his highest point. 

Thursday noon: We are now at Edson's ranch, 
where we drove in at twelve o'clock for dinner, 
having come twenty miles from Sisson's. The 
latter place would have suited you, W. It is a 
ranch. The house is low and rambling, part of it 
quite old for this country, having been built about 



1 13 

thirty years. It covers a great deal of ground, and 
is well furnished, books being quite a feature. The 
yard is full of roses. The pickets of the fence are 
ornamented with mountain-sheep horns, deer ant- 
lers, etc. It is a San Francisco resort, where 
summer boarders are taken at $\o per week! 
Sisson owns lakes, streams, and camps, some of 
which are twenty miles away, which he keeps for 
the use of his guests. 

Our breakfa.st was appetizing. Mciut : — Wild 
strawberries, cream, oatmeal, a poached &<g'g on 
toast placed at each plate, veal cutlet, baked pota- 
toes, trout, griddle cakes and warm biscuits. I had 
thought of you earlier, but when we came to the 
lumpy cream, I said to your father: "Would not 
W. enjoy this ? " You can imagine that we left 
this spot reluctant!)'. 

The ride this morning has been devoid of inci- 
dent. During the first twelve miles we came 
through shady woods, and the last eight over Shasta 
Valley, with not a tree to be seen ; but the expected 
and what we had been prepared for came into 
view as soon as we entered the valley. This spot 
is circular in shape, bounded on its south-west corner 
by old Shasta, whose claw-feet stretch out some 
miles, and Sisson's ranch is on one of his corns; 
but in that direction the toe ends a few rods west of 



114 

the house, and over the other side of the Httle river 
older and different strata appear. But to return to 
our Httle pocket valley. It looks to me as though 
it might have been a lake once, which was filled up 
by lava. At all events, entirely around it are volcanic 
mountains or hills. All are bare, of cone shape, 
evenly pointed and smooth, as though laid up by 
hand, and of various sizes, to the number of one 
hundred and three. You see, geologists hav^e found 
this \icinity a paradi.se for them, and hav'e not left 
us, who dwell below, ignorant of their marks and 
figures. We have dined, and shall soon cross this 
chain of hills. We have seen Mt. Whitney ever 
since entering the valley, one hundred miles or so 
away to the north-east, covered with snow. I sus- 
pect that we must lose and leave him in his solitude. 
This ranch is another rich one, judging by what we 
see. Fifteen workmen sat at table with us. The 
owners, father and son, are fine-looking men, but 
they evidently toil with their laborers. The house 
and surroundings are similar to Sisson's. The 
men are all of this countr}^, not Irish or Chinese, 
and look intelligent and happy. They ate in their 
checked shirts, but the owners slipped on linen 
coats. All had napkins. The dishes were white 
French china, and it was as well appointed a table 
as you e\er see in the countr)-. The mother and 



lis 

dausfhter-in-law are unembarrassed, seli-contained 
ladies, who interest me much. The same at 
Sisson's. His daughters wait on the table, but they 
are as well-dressed, intelligent, self-poised young 
ladies as you would meet an)'where — able to talk 
intelligently upon all the topics of the day; and at 
each of these three ranches standard books and the 
latest periodicals are a feature in their vine-covered 
porches and sitting-rooms. I mention this as these 
are the first opportunities we ha\-e had to meet the 
people of this class, and all the more remarkable 
\\hen you remember that these are the only habita- 
tions for miles and miles on this wild overland 
route to Oregon, the nearest points of civilization 
of much account being Sacramento on the one 
hand and Salem on the other. 

Half-past nine o'clock : We had rather a monoto- 
nous ride for three houns — nothing but a level plain 
of sand and sage brush. Mr. M. lost his hat down 
a well where we stopped to get a drink, we saw a 
coyote stealing his wa}^ into a sheep barn, passed 
two tramps, and met two teams. At five o'clock 
we reached Yreka, a mining town of about a thou- 
sand inhabitants, and where we had intended to 
.spend the night ; but, fearing that we could not 
reach the cars to-morrow night, we finally concluded 
to come twelve miles farther and stop at Anderson's. 



ii6 

The road leads over a spur of the Siskiyou Mount- 
ains. We had no idea that such an experience 
was before us. The scenery was as grand as any 
that we have seen, and I enjoyed it thoroughly, 
notwithstanding it was towards night and the horses 
were tired. You can hardly realize what they had 
to do to drag us up the mountains by the con- 
stantly zigzag road. Finally the summit was 
reached, and we spun down amid the wildest look- 
outs imaginable. After awhile the driver found 
that one of the axle-boxes was hot; so the men 
dismounted, took off the wheel, and fixed that. 
Then we watched and watched at every bend for 
Anderson's. You must understand that we were 
upon the mountain-side, hanging out and over- 
looking the caiion. Darkness was coming on, and 
it was with great joy that at last, far down in the 
valley, we caught sight of his ranch. On we went, 
full of grateful pleasure — but lo and behold! when 
we reined up at his door he refused to take us in! 
What should we do? "Why," said he, "you can 
get taken care of in Cottonwood, three and a half 
miles farther on." We saw that he was in one of 
the moods which we had heard sometimes overtake 
him, and that there was nothing to do but to drive 
on. A ferry over the river lay before us. It was 
eight o'clock, but it was of no use to demur. The 



ii; 

platform on which we launched was large enough for 
the horses and carriage, with not much room to spare, 
and I stood on the frail plank with fear and trem- 
bling. A rope ferry it was, and proved a safe one, 
but the river is the Klamath, a wide, deep, clamor- 
ous stream, with a very swift current, and it looked 
rather forbidding. 

Safely over, we commenced our up grade again. 
Of course it was dark enough (half-past nine o'clock) 
before we arrived at this forlorn spot. We tried 
two places, and finally were taken in here. This 
is a log house, I believe; certainly it is a shanty 
inside. We have had our supper, such as it was, 
though I think they had about all gone to bed, 
where I shall shortly be also, if by any means this 
enormous feather-bed can be managed. We have 
come fifty-five miles to-day. 

Friday morning: We have just had our break- 
fast (oh, how vile!) and are preparing to .start. 
Last night was a trying one. I did not like the 
looks of the men around, who are miners. The 
whole town, as we drove through, looked as though 
it might be inhabited by banditti. I shall be on the 
alert till we are well out from here. We must 
climb twelve miles before coming to the summit of 
another mountain. Then the same to go down. 
I forgot to say that, after leaving Yreka, for three 



it8 

miles we passed through placer mining. There 
was scarcely a square rod of ground that had not 
been dug over, and the road was not helped any by 
it. The troughs were crossing it, and wash-outs 
from their leaks were frequent, but I had a good 
opportunity to see the operation of surface mining. 

Your father is happy to have crossed the Klamath 
River, as he says he never expected to see that. 
How fortunate that we have kept well during this 
laborious but delightful part of our journey. 

Oregon, Saturday morning : We arrived at Ash- 
land last night after a pleasant day's ride, bid adieu 
to the driver and poor, tired horses, and embarked 
again upon a sleeper. We rested well, and arose 
at a quarter-past six for breakfast. We have passed 
through one beauty of a valley during the night, 
are now in the Tancolla Valley, and at ten o'clock 
we come to the Willamette, which we keep, I 
believe, all the way to Portland. The belt has been 
reached where it does rain occasionally; indeed, a 
little shower has fallen during the night, though 
hardly enough to lay the dust. I am told that in the 
Willamette Valley it rains all the time. Californians 
.say that, doubtless, out of pure envy. I can see 
that the character of the vegetation has changed 
materially. Everything looks fresher, and new 
shrubs appear on the slopes close by our roadway. 



119 

The syringa is beautiful. The cultivated with us is 
much more sparing in its blossoms. Here the 
branches are entirely covered with the pure white 
flowers. One new shrub (mountain spray) is pre- 
cisely in its bloom like the one your father gave C. 
at Easter, but the foliage is not glossy like that. 
It grows from ten to fifteen feet high. Our elder, 
too, makes a fine show. A wild lily which grows 
in north California is very beautiful. It is very 
like our Liliiiui caiididuin, three and four feet high, 
and the clusters of flowers are peculiar in that a 
part of the lilies on the .same bunch are pure 
white and some are a beautiful pink. I counted 
twelve blossoms on one yesterday, and they were 
as sweet as they could be. To change the subject. 
From our observation one thing is a fixed fact: it 
will do no good to boycott the Chinese till substi- 
tutes can be provided to fill their places. No fruit 
could be raised or picked in California, and no grain 
could be harvested. The Oregon Division has fully 
three thousand at work where we passed, and, in 
fact, the people are absolutely dependent upon them 
as cooks in hotels and ranches. Where we dined 
yesterday the lady says she pays her John $ i a day, 
but then he does everything which two housewomen 
would do, even if she could get them, which she can- 
not. The people hate them in theory and want them 



I20 

banished, but in practice they employ them and 
say: "What can we do? We can get no other 
laborers." They are workers, and I have been 
amused even while writing this. One is sawing 
wood. First he greased his saw with a great deal 
of care, but he has finally put through that log in a 
way to astonish the Knights of Labor. As we 
leave the .station he smiles upon us a happy good- 
bye. They are a disgusting set when aggregated. 
What shall be done with them ? I do not wonder 
at the puzzling situation. 



Esmond Hotel, Portland, Oregon, 

June 27tli, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

You will think our letters are at times a lit- 
tle infrequent, as it is almost a week since we mailed 
one, but when you come west of the Rocky Mount- 
ains you will find a country of long distances, slow 
travel and few facilities outside of the cities for 
mailing letters. Your mother's journal will give 
you particulars of our trip from San Francisco, 
which we enjoyed very much, though any one not 
accustomed to \\agon-riding and backwoods fare 
would have thought it a pretty hard journey. Our 
first day by rail from San Francisco to Delta was 



121 

uncomfortable, on account of the heat, though the 
last few hours through the mountains, following the 
Sacramento River, were delightful. We passed 
through no town of consequence after leaving Red 
Bluff, and that would hardly be considered of much 
account. Delta, where we left the cars, is a place 
of a few houses only, and, as the railroad is extended 
north, I do not see why anybody should continue 
to live there. Our stopping-places for the night and 
for dinners were generally isolated houses, where 
one man had established a ranch and redeemed a 
portion of the wilderness. We traveled miles after 
miles without seeing a house, and often without any 
signs of humanity, except on the road upon which 
we were driving. We passed through some flat, 
poor country, but a good deal of the journey was 
amidst and over the mountains, some portions of 
the way as wild and beautiful as any part of the 
journey into the Yo Semite. At Ashland, where 
we left our tired horses (and they lucrc tired, poor 
things), we found a pretty, active, busy place, larger 
than any we had passed through, and there we 
secured sections in an excellent Pullman, and came 
on to this place very comfortably, reaching here a 
little after four o'clock yesterday afternoon. We 
passed through several nice-looking, small towns 
after entering the Willamette Valley, which, as our 



122 

porter told us, is the garden-spot of Oregon. We 
found C.'s letter of the 17th and i8th awaiting us 
here, and news from home — good news at that. It 
was really refreshing. 

It rained here all night and this morning, and it 
was delightful to see it, as well as to feel the change 
from the perfectly dry atmosphere which has envel- 
oped us for the past few weeks. The clouds lay on 
the mountains all day yesterday, and hid the noted 
peaks of the Cascade Range — the Three Sisters, 
Mt. Jefferson and Mt. Hood. The last, however, 
we shall see from our window "when the clouds 
roll by." 

Your mother joins me in love to you both, and says 
she must send her leaves unfinished, as she is rest- 
ing her eye this morning ; and I am staying with her 
and chatting with you instead of going to church. 
On Tuesday she got a cinder in her eye, which 
pained her sadly, but which she did not make much 
fuss about, as she considered it an act of retributive 
justice for wishing that woman, who kept the win- 
dow open, to have a hole burned in her dress. It 
troubled her, however, all through the journey, and 
this morning, as it did not seem to be much better, 
we sent for a doctor, who took out a little speck, 
and now, I trust, she will be all right again. We 
have two or three trips to make from here — to 



123 

Salem, to Astoria and to Puget Sound — before 
starting for the East. Do you know that we have 
already traveled 6037 miles, besides carriage drives 
at various places amounting to nearly 200 miles 
more? So we have been diisy, and have had none 
too much time to rest. 



Monday Morning, 

June 28th, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

At eleven o'clock we bid adieu to Portland 
for a few^ days, and started for the North. It is 
now one o'clock, and we have come only about 
twelve miles; but there have been a good many 
stops and switchings to and fro to account for 
loss of time. The twelve miles out lay alongside of 
the Willamette River, a handsome stream, in width 
about like the Hudson, whose waters move slowly 
and gracefully along. It is navigable for smaller 
boats as far as Oregon City, and for ocean steamers 
to Portland, where one of the latter lay as we passed 
by the wharf The banks of the river are green and 
low. Even large trees lose their roots and a part of 
their trunks in the water, it being very high now. 
Ox-eye daisies have put in their appearance to-day, 
thus reminding me of home ; so also do the willows 
by the river-side. My eye is almost well since the 



124 

cinder was taken out yesterday. It was a fortunate 
thing to get to a doctor, for I suffered considerably 
for four days, though it did not hinder my enjoy- 
ment much. We have now crossed the Columbia, 
into which the Willamette flows, and are in Wash- 
ington Territory. 

Two o'clock : We have left the Columbia already, 
and are following the Cowlitz, quite a large, deep 
stream, which empties into the Columbia. Its 
waters are the brightest of sea green. There are 
five of us now — Mr. M., Mr. G., who is special 
agent for the North Pacific States, and a Mr. B., 
whom we met in the Yo Semite. He is from 
Chicago. We might as well be alone for all the 
company Mr. M. and Mr. G. give us, for they prefer 
the smoking-car. I suppose, however, that they 
take this opportunity to talk business. 

We are passing through a little town — Winlock 
by name. Perhaps there may be twelve houses 
— the most important station since dinner. It is 
a new country, and land is being cleared all 
around. A flock of prairie-birds have flown up 
and seated themselves upon a fallen tree, as saucy 
as need be. A man is stalking along with a gun. 
I hope he won't find them ; they look too pretty 
to be shot. The timber here, floating down stream, 
is very large. Your father says that what we 



1-5 

see at home would hardly be merchantable here. 
This is a Territory where the women vote, do jury 
duty, etc. In passing through the small town of 
Centralia, where we stopped a moment, a " Band of 
Hope," made up of about forty girls and a few boys, 
was parading. It was a temperance band, and 
need enough there is for it, I presume; for no mat- 
ter how small the town is, saloons are the most 
prominent feature. So, also, in California. 

At ten minutes to six we arrived at Tacoma, a 
town of 6000 inhabitants, situated on a high bluff, 
which shuts off from view the best part of the 
town. This is the point where we took the boat, 
and we have every promise of a pleasant tour 
through Puget Sound. Thus far it reminds us of 
the Rangeley Lakes. Night is here. 

Boat George E. Starr, Tuesday morning, half-past 
four : Your father is still in bed, waiting for some- 
thing worth his while to see. I was told that every- 
thing looked grand in the early morning ; so I 
improved the opportunity, in the hope of seeing Mt. 
Tacoma. Last night I got into the pilot-house for 
awhile and this morning am here again. We are 
stopping at Port Ludlow, where there are two large 
ships taking in lumber. Lumbering, in all its 
forms, is the principal business. It is very foggy. 
The boat is making a long stop, and the Captain 



126 

is evidently annoyed at my being unable to see 
the mountains. He has taken me ashore to show 
me the largest saw-mill on the Pacific coast, as there 
was nothing else to look at, he said ; otherwise 
I had better go back to bed. The mill is six hun- 
dred feet long, has fifteen boilers, is an automatic 
feeder and has a capacity of a quarter of a million 
a day. The logs are immense. Some squared are 
six feet across. Near by is a ship being built. The 
spars to this one are one hundred feet long, without 
a knot to be seen. They do get them a hundred 
and fifty feet. I had a beautiful sunrise view after 
all, and devoutly hope for a clear day to see the 
mountains, for, to me, there is not much worth the 
trouble thus far. I have seen quite as pretty sheets 
of water nearer home, and so have you. We hope 
to reach Victoria at eleven o'clock. We passed 
Seattle last night, and shall stop there on our return. 
Fifteen minutes past five o'clock : I have just 
been with the Captain for a cup of coffee, and upon 
our return the fog has lifted enough to see Mt. 
Rainier, or Tacoma. It is 14,500 feet high and 
seventy-five miles distant, but glorious to behold. 
The reflection on the snow gives it a pink color, 
which makes a charming picture. Oh ! how we 
sighed for it yesterday, and now I am first to see it. 
"The early bird," etc. Mt. Baker, also, has now 



T27 

come into sight. Your father has just made his 
appearance, looking pretty ghmi, for the mountains 
are clouded in again. 

Things improve. At our left we see the Olympic 
Range, a group b)^ themseh^es, Sooo feet in height, 
with snow caps. They have never been pros- 
pected. Seen from the sea-level, they look pretty 
lofty. This is where these mountains about here 
have the advantage for me. 

Half-past seven o'clock : We have had our 
breakfast. At Port Townsend your father and I 
went ashore and had quite a walk on the business 
street. Two gentlemen from New York, whom 
your father knows, have come into the pilot-house 
and been introduced, and are making them- 
selves very agreeable. We have just passed Van- 
couver Bay, the place where Vancouver, in his 
voyage of discover)', went in to repair his ships. 

Half-pa.st seven o'clock p. m. : Victoria was 
reached as I predicted, at eleven o'clock. We had 
to show our satchels to the custom-house officer. 
He did not examine mine, but merely asked if 
what I had was my usable property, and said : " Go 
on." Since dinner we have taken a drive about the 
town, which is a pretty dull place, and I cannot 
.see what people find to do. It has about 10,000 
inhabitants. The Governor lives in a very pleasant 



128 

place, with ample grounds, and his residence looks 
commodious. The Government buildings were new- 
two years ago, and to-morrow we mean to go 
around them before leaving. The houses here are 
mostly built low ; a great many are only one story, 
with square roofs and balustrades about them 
somewhere, while nearly all have bay-windows in 
every conceivable spot, thus giving them a quaint 
and picturesque appearance. Many train roses all 
across the front balconies. I cannot tell why, but 
still there is a lonely look about the whole town. 
We see nobody around ; curtains are drawn down ; 
no one is in the streets ; and, although we drove 
all about, we pas.sed only three ladies. This hotel 
is as quiet as the grave. I shall be ready to leave 
Her Majesty's dominions to-morrow at eleven by 
the clock precisely. 

Wednesday : " Sam'l of Posen " is here, and last 
night we went to sec him. The theatre is in the 
hotel, and is a very pretty one. The play waked us 
up a little, and now we leave by boat for Seattle. 

Thursday afternoon : We embarked at Victoria 
yesterday at two o'clock p. m., and arrived at Seattle 
wharf at twelve. The boat lies here till four o'clock 
in the morning; so we took a state-room last night 
and did not disturb ourselves till half-past three, 
when we arose and dressed in time to leave before 



129 

the boat should start. It was dayhi^ht then, and, 
there being no conveyance, we footed it to the 
iiotel, took a room, deposited our satchels, and 
walked a mile to what is called Capitol Hill, to see 
Mts. Baker and Rainier. The clouds gathered over 
them before we reached the spot, so we have 
failed in our endeavors, except during the very few 
moments that they came into view in the morning 
the day before yesterday. But I shall never for- 
get them. We reached the hotel again about six 
o'clock, when I finished out the night by taking a 
good nap till breakfa.st. Since then the gentlemen 
have devoted themselves to business, and I to 
seeing the town, which contains 10,000 inhabitants 
and several elegant homes. The most costly one 
has been sold b)' the Sheriff, the owner having 
gone under at the time of the collapse of the 
"boom," which rose here to such a degree that 
dealers in real estate became millionaires one month 
only to be bankrupted the next. At present there is 
the greatest strife and bitterness between this town 
and New Tacoma, the terminus of the Northern 
Pacific. The feud is amusing to tourists. Old 
Tacoma Mountain is owned by neither, but is 
nearer to the town of Tacoma, and in full sight of 
it ; so the Seattle people will not call it Tacoma, but 
Mt. Rainier, the original name, while the Tacomaites 



insist that it shall be Tacoma. The antagonism 
is shown in every petty way imaginable, and I am 
not certain, till }'our father comes in, that we can 
get out of town to-night, because the boats will not 
run to favor Seattle, and the cars at Tacoma will 
make any arrangement that will keep people from 
coming here. 

We want very much to go to Tacoma to-night, 
thus saving a whole day, and the run is only two 
hours. This afternoon we have driven around town 
a little, and, having read in the morning paper 
that a minister here had succeeded in raising a 
bamboo plant, we called to see it, and found an 
enthusiast in roses. He has ninety-five varieties, 
and I wish you could see the bouquet he cut me. 

Your father has come and says the boat gets in 
between eight and nine, and leaves at ten ; so we 
have a fine night in prospect. There is such a fight 
going on that the boat would not touch at all if it 
were not obliged to bring the mail. I shall watch 
this struggle with interest. Seattle is right plucky, 
and, though dreadfully plagued, does not mean to 
succumb. It has a fine agricultural country to back 
it up. There is a large tract where the finest and 
most abundant hops in the country, if not in the 
world, are raised. In the same section enormous 
crops of oats and potatoes are produced, and there 



131 

are also large quantities of coal mined, for which this 
is the shipping outlet. Tacoma has a back country 
that is not worth a dime. The railroad first bought 
a square mile of poor land, laid out a city, built a 
large and elegant Gothic hotel, and intended to 
ruin Seattle. The railroad would have made this 
latter place the terminus but for the fact that it 
wanted to buy the property for nothing, so that the 
corporation could make the money. As they did 
not succeed in the attempt, they ha\-e made them- 
selves a city in the wilderness. 

Friday morning: One really disagreeable epi- 
sode has occurred. Last night the boat started 
finally at huclvc o'clock. It rained all night on the 
roof and kept me awake, and I arose at four 
o'clock; so you .see I got little sleep, though your 
father did better. As soon as the others were up 
and dressed we began to think about breakfast. It 
was more than half a mile up the bluff to Tacoma, 
and, as it was rainy and muddy, I decided to stay 
on the boat and have the gentlemen bring my 
breakfast down; but by good fortune a go-cart of 
a wagon was at the wharf, which we chartered to 
take us to the hotel. Arriving there, we found it 
too early to get breakfast before the train should 
leave; so we sought a restaurant and fared comfort- 
ably. Then there was no convej-ance to the depot. 



132 

and we had to walk half a mile to the lower depot, 
dragging all our satchels, etc. It was an uncom- 
fortable job, and we presented a rather ludicrous 
picture. Our way led through the principal street 
of the town, and by looking up the cross streets we 
.saw all of Tacoma that we cared for. It is very 
new, and the streets are not graded yet, though 
there are some fine buildings. They look as though 
they were all brought from some place yesterday 
and dumped upon an unprepared foundation, and 
might pitch into a gully at the first good breeze. 
The cars are fairly good, but the road is so rough 
that I must stop. 



Esmond House, Portland, Oregon, 

////)' 2d, 1886. 
My dear Children : 

We have just returned from Puget Sound, 
having been as far as Victoria, on Vancouver's Island, 
which is, I believe, the farthest point from home 
which we have reached, or shall reach, during our 
journey. I think your mother enjoyed this part of 
the trip as little as any thus far. Indeed, it was 
rather hard and disappointing, as the clouds did 
not favor us with much in the way of mountain 
views, and our disappointment in this regard prob- 
ably interfered with our enjoyment of what we 



really saw. The boats on the Sound are not par- 
ticularly attractive, and some of the stops are at 
hours exceedingly inconvenient. At Victoria they 
were rejoicing over the opening of the Canadian 
Pacific Railway, whose first passenger train comes 
through this week. The terminus is seventy-five 
miles away from them by boat, and, except in the 
way of competition with existing lines, the road 
will not at present benefit them ver)' much. 

So my stories are considered at the office " Tales 
of a Traveler," are they ? I wish now I had brought 
a photograph of the tree with a stage going through 
it. It is no romance. But I have really seen more 
wonderful things than I could describe, and more, 
I fear, than I can digest in the time. They will 
last me a long while to call up in memory and 
think of over and over. 



Portland, Oregon, 

>/)' 6th, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

This is Monday morning, and we are on 

board the steamer Olympian, a fine large boat, built in 

Villard's flush times, and it corresponds with all the 

rest of his gigantic enterprises, which in this vicinity 

are in statu quo. We are on an excursion going to 

Astoria, and we do this to save time, as ordinarily 

we should be obliged to stay all night. 



134 

Yesterday we attended church, and in the evenini^ 
your father talked a few minutes in behalf of his 
favorite American Missionary Association, as it was 
the time for its annual collection. We did not learn 
whether your father's eloquence conduced to the 
filling of fat plates. The Congregational church is 
not large, and is more depleted now than it was a 
few years ago, when an internal dissension rent the 
church and many went to Presbyterianism. Port- 
land is a beautiful cit\'. There are many very rich 
men here, and their dwellings are almost palatial. 
It is the most desirable town to live in, all things 
considered, of any that we have seen. It is hand- 
somely laid out, the streets crossing each other at 
right angles. It has a great many shade trees, and 
cultivated flowers flourish to any extent. The 
English ivy seems to enjoy its privileges, and must 
grow like that we hear so much about in England. 

We are sorel}' tried this morning, in that it rains 
almost whole water, thereby shutting off all distant 
views. The river (Columbia) is grandly beautiful. 
It is a good deal wider than the Hudson, and occa- 
sionally we glide by islands miles in length. The.se, 
as well as the banks, are clothed in the brightest of 
green, a marked contrast to California, where every 
tree and shrub is covered with dust, except where 
washed down by hose and irrigation. W^e have 



135 

passed two settlements since we started, St. Helen 
and Columbia City, both very small hamlets. All 
else is wilderness. 

The ri\'er is attractive also in its waters, which are 
deep, flowing to-day with a steady, rapid current, of 
a clear, green color. Then, again, there are many 
wide streams flowing into it, and up which we can 
look for some distance. In this, as well as in the 
fact that the banks are indented with bays and inlets 
on a large scale, it is unlike any other river to me, 
and I can imagine that if the weather permitted the 
mountains to be seen, particularly the prominent 
peaks of the Cascade and Coast Ranges, its glory 
would be greatly enhanced. The most important 
town that we have seen is Kalama, near which 
point the canneries make their appearance, and 
stretch all along, at short distances apart, as far as 
Astoria. Some of these are immense, and their 
aggregate trade is enormous, thus making the 
Columbia as celebrated for its fisheries as for its 
beauty and grandeur. 

Astoria, four o'clock: We arrived here about 
one o'clock, in the midst of a pouring rain, and 
have just had our lunch. It still continues to pour, 
and we shall see but little of the town except while 
going through the principal street, though fortu- 
nately it all lies on a slope, with a long line of hill 



136 

for a background, so we can see it nearly all the 
time after we first come in sight on the boat. It 
has 8000 inhabitants, spread out for the distance of 
two miles, I should think. There are two or three 
mansions, which are owned by the salmon kings. 
The canning of salmon is the only business of the 
place. As we passed by we stepped into one can- 
nery, went through it, and saw what the process is, 
although it was not in full operation. 

Curious ideas come to me to-day about the 
changes in this world. How little did I think of 
ever seeing this place when I studied geography and 
pointed it out on the map, and bounded Oregon as 
a part of my lesson ! If any one had said I should 
ever be west of the Rocky Mountains, it would 
have made me think him craz}' ; yet here I am, and 
have seen more wonders than I had ever supposed 
to exist. 

The Columbia is at this place eight miles wide, 
and broadens still more before it opens into the 
ocean. We .see the mouth from the steamer; but 
we did not go on to Fort Canby, as it is very rough 
going over the bar, besides wanting to see more 
of this, to me, historic town. There is not a stick 
or stone left of the old Astor fort and trading-house; 
but one little, mean shed of a restaurant is there, with 
"Astor House" for its sisfn. Such is fame! 



Eleven o'clock : This has been a day of weari- 
some travel. This afternoon your father and I went 
first through the drenching rain to the wharf where 
we were to wait for the boat to take us home, but 
found it occupied by the ocean steamer Oregon, 
which had just come in from San Francisco, and 
was unloading freight. It was the expectation that 
she would be ready to steam up and be away before 
our boat should arrive; but scarcely had we taken 
seats upon some bags filled with potatoes, when the 
whistle sounded and we discovered that our boat had 
gone to another wharf and was awaiting her pas- 
sengers. So we had to hustle pretty lively, and by 
good fortune crowded ourselves into a wagon 
already full, and were hurried to the steamer; but 
one of our party, in looking us up at the first landing, 
came as near as could be to getting left. The night 
is pretty dark and we are going slowly, and shall not 
in any case reach Portland before twelve o'clock. 
We learn that it was pretty rough at the mouth of the 
river, and many were made very sick running up 
to the fort. Last night five fishermen were lost in 
the gale. This evening there have been patriotic 
speeches, singing, and music by the band, but I am 
getting tired and sleepy. Good-night and pleasant 
dreams. 



i3<^ 

Tuesday : It was twelve o'clock when we landed 
at the dock last night, and one o'clock before we 
were settled for sleep. This morning your father and 
Mr. M. rose early and went up to Salem on busi- 
ness. Salem is a place of considerable note, hand- 
somely laid out, and reminds one of an Eastern 
town ; but as I saw it on our way here, I took another 
nap and am awaiting their return at four p. m. The 
fog was thick enough to cut when they went, but it 
soon cleared, and for an hour I had a grand view of 
Mts. St. Helen's and Hood for the first time since 
we came, as a part of St. Helen's only had been 
seen before. That is the worst of seeing mountains, 
or rather trying to see them. Here were tourists 
who had delayed ten days for it to be clear, 
but left yesterday disgusted, and now it has been 
pleasant for an hour and is again hazy, both 
mountains having big, mean, old clouds resting on 
them half their way down. They loom up in the 
sky over 1 1 ,000 feet, and are volcanic. In a book 
on Oregon, written by Mrs. Victor, and published in 
1872, she says that she has witnessed Hood in an 
active state of eruption. Of the five high volcanic 
mountains that we have .seen, I like Shasta and 
Rainier best, though scarcely acquainted with the 
latter. Shasta, which we saw first, and nearer, has 
two crater tops, and I finally saw its glaciers from 



139 

one point. Baker has a jagged top, on account of 
the crater falling in about twenty years ago. 
Rainier runs symmetrically to a sharp point from 
whatever direction it is seen. St. Helen's is a perfect 
dome, though it has frequently, since the settlement 
of the country, thrown out ashes and steam, and 
once by its ashes obscured the daylight to the dis- 
tance of one hundred miles. So says Mrs. Victor. 
Of Hood we shall see more when going up the 
river. 

Wednesday afternoon: I have had a busy day 
repacking for another start. It really seems now 
as though our faces will be turned homeward. I 
am afraid Portland would not suit me after all 
to live in, though the climate, in winter espe- 
cially, must be delightful so far as moderate cold is 
concerned ; but then in that season it rains nearly 
all the time, and after about the first of July the 
forest fires and fogs set in, and till the wet season 
puts the fires out the smoke is so thick that some- 
times one cannot see across the streets, and the sun 
is at that time only visible as we see it through 
smoked glass. Of course, I only know what is told 
me; but Mr. H.'s nephew, or grand-nephew, who 
lives here, and who is coming to take us to ride at 
four o'clock, said all that this morning. However, 
I cannot vouch for his veracity. 



140 

It is time for me to get ready to go. I do not 
have a minute to call my own. All the leisure 
there is for writing is in the cars, and then the 
jolting is such that I presume you cannot read 
the result. 



On the Columbia River, 
Steamer Bonita, 

Thursday Morning, July 8th, 1886. 

My dear Children : 

We awoke this morning to find it raining. 
It is too bad, but there is a great deal to see in this 
pilot-house, with an affable Captain to tell us all 
the points. We have come down the Willamette 
twelve miles, to where it empties into the Columbia, 
and have just turned the corner, and are headed up 
the Columbia. Of course, all is new to us. This 
river continues to impress me as different from any 
large one I have ever seen. The banks thus far 
being low and green, while the trees are not very 
large or tall, we see a long way into the background. 
For some unexplained reason the river seems raised, 
and it appears almost as though we were gliding 
through mid-air. If it were clear, the Coast and 
Cascade Ranges on either side would add greatly 
to the view. 



141 

We have now arrived at Vancouver, W. T., which 
was once the old Hudson's Bay Company's station 
before the United States got hold of the Territory. 
The town is veiy pretty, with 3000 inhabitants, and 
has an army post of 1400 men. Back of it for 
miles is a regular prairie country, the products of 
which give it quite a trade. 

Half-past ten : After a run of twenty miles from 
Vancouver, we are at the landing at La Camas, a 
little nestling town, with a paper mill as its incen- 
tive, and where the Captain and Purser have had a 
pretty warm altercation of words respecting their 
duties. 

Ten minutes to eleven : Here is another settle- 
ment of perhaps a dozen houses, where green 
meadows lie between it and the river. The 
Captain ran the nose of the boat on the bank and 
let off five passengers and the mail. The weather 
has improved since we were at Vancouver, the 
clouds breaking considerably, but now we seem to 
be approaching a sharp bend and gorge, where the 
rain is falling in torrents. 

The gorge has proved to be the entrance to 
the pass through the Cascade Mountains, some 
forty miles in length. At the left is Rooster Rock, 
a curious formation, which rises perpendicularly 
out of the river some two hundred feet. And 



142 

now the mountain scenery begins, the clouds hav- 
ing raised for fine near views. There are high 
bkiffs on either side. On the left hand there 
is one 200 feet high, which slopes enough for 
us to see the cultivated country all along its 
ridge. As we look ahead now, the river nar- 
rows, and the ends of the gigantic promontories, 
running down to the water, one after another, in 
the most grotesque and fanciful forms, as far as 
the eye can reach, present a wonderful panorama. 
What it would be with the distant mountains addi- 
tional is hard to imagine. 

We have rounded Cape Horn, the abrupt ending 
of a huge promontory of basaltic rock, jutting 
towards us, and a reminder of the flint rocks in 
Kineo Bay. The boat runs close to the base, giv- 
ing us a grand upward look. At the end, as we 
pass, one huge rock stands out alone, having all the 
appearance of a petrified tree, about 300 feet high, 
and cut square off at the top. The seams and 
knots in the bark are a perfect imitation. Opposite, 
on the other cliff, are the Bridal-Veil Falls, a 
beautiful sheet, 180 feet high, while between the 
two cliffs stands Lone Rock, like a huge needle 
rising out of the water. Below Cape Horn are sev- 
eral evenly-rounded cones, at equal di.stances apart, 
in appearance broken perpendicularly in two, and 



143 

almost black in color, with a smooth, flat surface 
presented to us, as though the half had fallen into 
the water, while the farther side curves against the 
deepest of green background. (3n the right hand, 
or Oregon side, three water-falls are now before me. 
The largest is the celebrated Multnomah, falling 
800 feet between rocks towering 2000 feet above; 
the other two are fully as high, but more spar- 
ing of water. The cliffs in this gorge are very 
different from any that I have seen of equal height, 
in that the perpendicular sides, from base up, are 
covered with verdure, except where portions of rock 
crop out. It seems to be composed of low, green 
bushes and creeping vines, all interspersed with 
yellow moss, as .seen by the aid of the glass ; but 
to the naked eye the green is brilliant, the rocks 
purplish red, the vines variegated, and all resting on 
a beautiful carpet of golden brown. The cafions 
and water-falls are innumerable. The sun has come 
out and gilds the mountain-tops and lights up the 
ravines as we pass. Your father has gone to din- 
ner, but I cannot stop looking, and shall fast. 
Thanks to the intricate channel, we go slowly. Here 
is Castle Rock at my left, alone, looo feet high, on 
the top of which are imaginary towers, bastions, etc. 
You can have no idea of the oft-repeated cafions 
and gorges that cut and shape the loftiest peaks into 



144 

pyramids, cones, cathedrals and other forms, hun- 
dreds and thousands of feet high. We have now- 
come from the subhme to the ridiculous, for at the 
foot of one of these wild and beautiful slopes stands 
a cannery] and sitting in the pilot-house I look in 
and see piles of salmon ready for the knife and 
can. Sacrilege indeed. Here, too, is the inevitable 
Chinaman that the people cannot do without. 
While we stop the salmon are jumping right lively 
all about us. One has popped his head and tail out 
of water, greatly to your father's delight. 

Twenty minutes to two o'clock: After twenty 
miles, or about half way through the notch, we took 
the cars, and are passing around the Cascade 
Rapids, a distance of six miles or so, when we shall 
again take the boat. The rapids are not much like 
those of Niagara; still they are very respectable, 
and, in fact, for a short distance resemble the quieter 
part of them. There are also many islands and 
rocks strewed around. 

Where we take the boat the river makes a sharp 
turn and widens into lake shape, amid a circle of 
low cliffs, and at this bend, on a low hill, command- 
ing the pass between the navigable waters above 
and below the Cascades, stands the old block- 
house where General Sheridan won his laurels in 
fighting Indians, when he was a lieutenant. The 



145 

Government has commenced a series of locks 
through which to pass boats around the cascades. 

Half-past two o'clock : Here again in the pilot- 
house; a great favor, you may rest assured, for in 
this way I learn about the country and points of 
interest. How did I get here? Up a ladder of 
iron, placed straight against the side of the boat ; 
not so very high though. The weather has changed, 
and the sun-pictures are well worth looking at, as 
the shadowy clouds flit from crag to peak and play 
their phantasies on the slopes. The rapid current 
plays its part, too, and dashes along so that the 
white-capped waves dance and glisten in the sun. 
The Oregon Railway and Navigation Company has 
its track by the side of the river, close under the 
mountain, which seems a desecration. 

Later: If this were not a river I should be a 
trifle scared ; the water is so rough. Many a 
time on Lake Winnipiseogee, where it was no 
wider, I have had the fidgets. We have stopped at 
what is called a water-flume, in which lumber slides 
down to the river. It runs circuitously round the 
mountain, where a stream is tapped for the water. 
On the top of the plateau are a saw-mill and several 
houses. The height, perpendicularly, seems to me 
to be about 200 feet, and a chute, or dry flume, I 
judged to be 300 feet long. Your father guessed 



146 

pretty nearly. It is 1200 feet to the top of the 
plateau, and the chute is 2000 feet long ! When 
a plank comes down into the water it sends the 
spray up finely. 

Near the foot of this flume a lone rock stands in 
the river, with a hut, or wigwam, on it, the rock 
being a burial-spot for Indians, though there is not 
much use for it now. There is another, the Captain 
says, at The Dalles. The Indians wrap the bodies 
and put them there. I wonder if the poor creatures 
think that this is the only way to preserve their 
boiies from encroachments ? 

Five o'clock: The formation and color of the 
rocks have changed materially during the last two 
hours. The country bordering on the river is 
flatter, and occasionally we see cattle ranges among 
the hills. 

We are coming to a promontory of rock jutting 
far out into the river; in fact, it is an island, and 
proves to be the Indian burial-spot referred to 
before, near The Dalles. It has on it, besides a 
good many Indian boxes, a white marble monu- 
ment, erected on masonry, which marks the spot 
where a white man is buried, at his own request, 
with the Indians. He died in California. He was 
a member of the Legislature, and probably had 
money enough to enable his .strange freak to be 



H7 

carried out. Perhaps he could not have selected a 
better place to perpetuate his name and fame, for it 
can be seen (the monument) far and near, up and 
down the river, and by every passenger on the 
trains as they pass on the opposite side. The 
Klikitat River has rushed in through a narrow 
ravine. At the mouth the walls are as symmetrical 
as though laid by the most accomplished artisan. 
The rocks which we are now passing are pre- 
cipitous, bare, rugged, ugly and battlemented, if 
you can imagine what all that means. They rise 
tier above tier, and frown down from their giddy 
height as though they would delight in swamping 
us. A Hand restrains them as powerful as that 
which made them, and great and marvelous are 
His works. One can scarcely behold such a won- 
derful display of mighty power as we have seen 
to-day without a feeling of insignificance amount- 
ing almost to nothingness. 

And now we approach the end of our trip on 
the Columbia. Ever a delightful memory. I can 
hardly keep back the tears as I reflect .that it is a 
joy never to be repeated, but stands only as another 
episode in this far-away land of my early imagination. 

The Dalles, waiting for the cars; I have only 
time to say good-night, as your father is going to 
mail this. At nine o'clock we take a sleeper till 
the day after to-morrow. 



148 

Umatilla House, The Dalles, Oregon, 

July 8th, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

We are waiting here for the train, the boat by 
which we came up the river giving us a three hours' 
stop at this point, and I have suggested to your 
mother that she forward her day's letter and take a 
fresh start, as it will be some little time before we 
shall be ready to write again. 

We have enjoyed our day immensely, as )'ou can 
judge from your mother's notes. It is hard to 
realize where we are, on the Columbia River, which 
in my boyhood was almost a mythical stream, 
hardly more to be seen and known than the Styx. 
At nine o'clock this evening we take our Pullman 
again, and keep on the go until Saturday night 
finds us at Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel, where 
we have decided to spend Sunday, instead of stop- 
ping at Livingston. 






149 

Washington Territory, 

Friday, July gth, iSS6. 
My dear Children : 

We have had an eventful morning;-. Last 
night, after taking the cars, your father and I stood 
on the platform for some time watching the river as 
it swerved through The Dalles. I do not know what 
the word Dalles means, but the waters wind around, 
and in and out among walls of rock, formed much 
like the paths that are in an artificial maze, in one 
of which I was lost at Del Monte, Monterey, till 
Mr. S. helped me out. The river through here is 
very narrow, say eighty feet wide, con.sequently it is 
very deep, and as it plunges, and rears, and foams, 
in order to get through these channels of rocks, it 
is a sight well worth trouble to behold. The moon- 
light favored us. After we retired we watched for 
a long time from our berths to see the river widen 
again, but after we zvcrc asleep we knew little that 
was going on, until at Wallula Junction Mr. M. left 
us for good. About that time I was awake, and saw 
a shadow passing. I peeped out and saw a man 
poking his head into the opposite berth ; then he 
went to your father's, and then came to mine. 
When he had gotten the curtains parted, I said : 
" What do you want ? " He replied : " Oh ! I 
thought I heard )'ou call, lady." " Well, you 



150 

didn't," said I, whereupon he subsided. Of course 
there was no more sleep for me till daylight. When 
at last I did lose myself I was awakened by the cry : 
"All hands up and ready for transfer." As soon as 
possible we dressed, and were informed that the 
transfer meant a half-mile walk over the miserable 
prairie around a trestle bridge, a part of which had 
been burnt down last night. I immediately said : 
" Porter, won't you take my satchel ? " This raised 
a laugh, and he said : " Yes, yes, yes." How- 
ever, we all got around without much trouble, as 
there were men on hand to take the baggage. But 
we have been detained four hours, and we do not 
yet know what effect this will have as to our arrival 
at Mammoth Hot Springs. The country^ that we are 
going over is a most uninteresting, rolling, humpy 
prairie desert, with not a tree, shrub or blade of 
grass to be seen. The less attention given to it the 
better. 

When we were on our famous ride from the gey- 
sers, Charley Foss reined up at a winery and treated 
his passengers. Your father, at my request, bought a 
bottle in case of need, and has carried it in our wan- 
derings ever since. Just now I asked him to open 
it, and feel slightly refreshed. 

Ten o'clock : Five hours late, and still standing 
at Palouse Junction. 



Tweh'e o'clock : On, on, still on through the 
same monotonous, barren country. The ground is 
more undulating, and we are evidently on an ascend- 
ing grade. Nothing breaks the surface but basaltic 
rocks cropping out, some crumbling and leaving 
vertical formations exposed to view. There are 
also patches of scoria, but all else seems to be 
alkaline dust. Indeed, the geologists say that all, 
or the greater part, of the ashes and scoria from the 
volcanic Cascades was thrown upon the east side of 
the mountains, and that for miles and miles the lakes 
and ravines were filled up with them. Certainly 
we have had evidence enough that there has been 
a terrible boil and overflow at some time. 

Half-past three : We passed into Idaho a few- 
moments since. For two hours we have been 
climbing, and the country has improved some- 
what. First pines appeared, then cultivated pock- 
ets, and latterly a few cattle ranches ; but eastern 
Washington Territory is rather a forlorn tract. 
The Coeur d'Alene Mountains are at our right, 
and that fact gives us some hope of a happy change. 
I believe we just graze the northern part of Idaho, 
and that only for a run of about four hours. All 
volcanic formations disappeared before we left 
Washington Territoiy, and as we proceed the soil 
grows richer and richer ; finely-farmed land and 



152 

meadows arc on every side, with plenty of fine tim- 
ber — and what do you think ? Golden rod is nod- 
ding her plumes at me from the road-side — welcome 
harbinger of fraternal love from the East! 

Cocolalla Lake, a beautiful sheet of clear water, 
is at the left, coming close up to the track. It is 
bordered b)^ a fringe of pines — an oasis in this land 
to-day. 

A half hour later: We are stoi)i)ing at the Pend 
d'Oreille station, and have come upon a lake of 
the same name, about as large as the lower Wilson, 
and which reminds me of it, surrounded as it is 
with the same purple mountains, two of which are 
tipped a little with snow. A trestle bridge a mile 
long, which we have cros.sed, divides this from a 
sister lake on the left. 

Later : We have nearly circled the lake, which 
is much larger than it at first appeared, and is one 
of the handsomest I have ever seen, with its islands, 
its variety of mountains, its green and mossy banks, 
and its clear, blue waters, to which the reflections lend 
a charm so fascinating that the eye wearies. We are 
now following Clarke's Fork. Lewis's and Clarke's 
Forks are what I traced in school, and I remember 
that once I went to the head of my class for giv- 
ing a description of their rise, direction and final 
leap into the Columbia. The Pend d'Oreille Lake 



'53 

is forty miles lonij;, and resembles Lake George 
in many respects, but the mountains are much 
more unique in form and are loftier; the near 
foliage is of vivid green, while the distant i)rom- 
ontories and peaks are of the deepest blue and 
softest violet. This lake, as I have said, ranks in my 
mind second to none that I have ever seen. We 
have followed Clarke's l^^ork forty miles. If this 
river were at the East it would be a tourists' para- 
dise. Here it flows through a wild region, opened 
up only by tlie railroad. The color of the water is 
bright green, like the Niagara below the falls, and 
for several miles it runs between banks as precip- 
itous and deep as that, while on the other side from 
our lookout, close by the brink all the way, there 
rise terraces of table-lands one after another, level 
and smooth, with velvety grass, interspersed with 
trees, which look as though they were planted. 
Truly, nature vies with art, or rather, art copies 
nature. 

Then the changes in this river are great. Some- 
times it winds through the greenest of meadows ; 
then again it dashes in wonderful rapids over rocks 
and down ravines. This afternoon's ride by Pend 
d'Oreille Lake and along the river has been one of 
the most charming bits of travel in our whole 
journey. Night has come. Adieu to thy charms, 
and again adieu. 



154 

Saturday morning: Your father and I left our 
window-curtains up last night, that we might look 
out in the moonlight if awake — he keeping his 
spectacles on. But we slept like logs most of the 
time, and find ourselves, since breakfast, at Helena, 
where we are taking in water, etc. This town is 
the largest in Montana, and, though a mile away 
from the depot, it looks dreadfully hot. It is a 
mining towni, and I think the last place for me 
to live in. We have come over the Rockies since 
we were up, and, with one exception of a few 
miles, it was no great exploit. The road wound 
around and zigzagged considerably, but we have 
seen too much to be surprised at trifles, and I 
expect to be dreadfully disappointed in the Yellow- 
stone. This is a grazing land among the hills, as 
I call them. I never saw as many sheep in my life 
as just now on this table-land. The train was 
stopped by a flock of some hundreds, which, as 
they scampered at the shrieks of the whistle, 
kicked up a dust to be seen for miles. Ever since 
coming into Idaho the wild flowers have been 
luxuriant and many familiar, Intt I cannot get tlicvi. 

Ten o'clock: A little river, which we have fol- 
lowed since leaving Helena, proves to be the 
ui)per Missouri, and the very green, fertile valley 
is the Missouri Valley. In the distance are lofty, 



1 55 

snow-capped mountains. The stream is crooked, 
and we go with it at present, then lose it for awhile, 
and catch it again at Bismarck. This level plain 
has the appearance of once having been a sea, and 
is surrounded b}' volcanic hills, not unlike those 
around Shasta Valley, about which I wrote. The 
prickly pear has appeared again, which, of course, 
indicates more sterile soil. You may know what 
I did not, that geologists hold that the ocean was 
once in here, and that through contraction the 
earth-crust burst and threw up the Rockies, inclo.s- 
ing a great deal of salt water, which in course of 
time became fresh ; after viillions of ages or so there 
was another upheaval, and out came the Cascade 
Range ; then another rest, and the Coast Range was 
.spurted up; but even /cannot remember back quite 
so far. I can look out and see a flock of ducks on 
the river, which would make your eyes glitter, and 
that is just as well. One thing is pleasant: the 
water is clear. The Missouri has a good beginning, 
but, like many a life, is destined to become unclean, 
discolored and turbulent by the elements which it 
absorbs. 

Half-past eleven: We have had a frightful acci- 
dent, and are pinioned probably for hours. h\\ of 
a sudden the air-brake was put on, which gave a 
shock, but before one could .speak a crash followed, 



156 

which we all understood. One man, who was at 
my side in the aisle, was thrown down, and we were 
all unseated. It proved to be a collision between our 
train and a freight train. The freight train seems 
in fault. We were at our usual rate, going around 
a moderate curve. The freight had stopped for 
water, but had sent back no signal. Our engineer 
and two men in the engine, after putting on the 
brake, jumped and escaped with slight harm. Our 
engine smashed into the caboose and broke it into 
splinters, injuring one man, perhaps fatally. Another 
car was thrown off the bank, and our smoke-stack 
lies in the ditch. Fortunately there was a surgeon 
along with a case of instruments, but he had no 
anesthetics, and there are none on board. The 
groans of the poor man are agonizing to hear. We 
must send to Bozeman for help. All are composed 
and think nothing of the delay, except one woman 
who acts like an idiot. She has the section opposite 
me, and keeps up a constant clack of silly nonsense 
about the loss of time! I do not know how we 
shall fare for food, for, as I passed through the 
dining-car, the eatables, crockery, etc., were all over 
the floor. A merciful Father has again protected 
;/.v from harm. 

Quarter-past one : In an almo.st incredibly short 
space of time we are off The freight engine first 



157 

got its own train aside ; then the men attached to it 
ropes, which in turn were fastened to the debris, 
and, by backing and pushing to and fro, it was 
pulled away so that our engine could run off; 
then the freight engine was hitched on, and thus 
we go to the next station, carr}'ing with us the 
poor, wounded man, who is so mangled that he 
might better have been killed. 

Half-past three o'clock : It is quite uncertain 
when we shall arrive at Livingston. If too late to 
go on to Cinnabar, and thence by stage six miles to 
Mammoth Hot Springs, we shall spend Sunday at 
Livingston. In either case I shall mail these leaves 
at Livingston, for I dare say there will be little 
opportunity for writing when in the Park. We 
shall never know the fate of the poor fellow we left 
at Bozeman, but I feel a good deal stirred, and his 
groans and cries still ring in my ears. It seems 
that, being on a curve, our engine struck at an 
angle, which partly warded off the caboose and car. 
Had we struck square, the danger from the cars 
mounting our engine would ha\e been far greater 
for us. So say the men. 






158 

Saturday Afternoon. 
My dear Children: 

Your mother has told the story of our day's 
journeying so fully that I need add nothing. Still, 
I want to send a word of my own. God has indeed 
been good to us again; and, though some of our 
fellow-passengers are grumbling at the delay, %ve 
feel only too thankful for our preservation. The 
cook in the dining-car was swearing fearfully because 
the dinner that he had prepared was destroyed by 
the crash, and he had to cook it all over again. 
We have had less barren country to pass through 
on this route, and, though not as wild as on the 
Denver and Rio Grande Road, the scenery mostly 
has been beautiful and attracti\'e. Your mother 
lost her felt hat to-day on the platform ; so I have 
lent her my gray fishing hat, ^\'hich I was wearing, 
and am confining myself to my cap, and if I had 
not caught it she would have lost the second hat. 

We are now something like two and a half hours 
late, and though from all we can learn Livingston 
is not a specially inviting place to spend Sunday, 
we may stay there as the least of two evils. We are 
looking forward with great anticipations to our trip 
through the Park, and, indeed, to all the rest of our 
journey home. 



159 

Mammoth Hot Springs, 

Siiiidaj' AftcTiiooii, July nth, 1886. 

My dear Children: 

After the full and frctiuent letters sent you in 
the past few da}'s you will hardly expect much now, 
but as we go into the wilderness to-morrow, where 
opportunities of writing and mailing letters may not 
present themselves, I will have one more little chat 
with you before we start. 

We were very glad that we decided not to stop at 
Livingston, which is by no means attractive in 
appearance, for we find ourselves very comfortable 
here in the hotel, about which Rufus Hatch made so 
much fuss four or five j^ears ago. It is not yet 
finished, but in present hands it bids fair to be, and 
is really very well kept. We arrived here about nine 
o'clock in the evening ; but you would be surprised 
at the length of the days in this latitude. Daylight 
begins about half-past three and continues till half- 
past nine. Very convenient, isn't it, when one reall}' 
wants to make a long day ? You may be sure, 
however, that we did not get up to see the sun rise 
this morning. We had a hard day yesterday, with 
the continuous travel, the long delay, and the excite- 
ment of the collision, of which we wrote you, and 
have been resting to-day. 



i6o 

We are going around the Park in a carriage by 
ourselves, with a driver, so that we can take in all the 
sights in our own way, and are anticipating a great 
deal of pleasure in it. 

We have no " church-going bell " here to remind 
us that it is the Lord's Day, and no services in the 
house. Sunday is not absolutely a forgotten day 
" out West," but comparatively few pay much atten- 
tion to it, and fewer still think of stopping in a jour- 
ney on account of it, and, though we have usually 
been where church was accessible, I really long for a 
Jiome Sunday. 

Your mother says: " Tell them that I am enjoying 
baths direct from the Mammoth Hot Springs — one 
last night and another this morning, and after the 
fatigue and dust of travel they are really refresh- 
ing." 



Yellowstone Park, Norris Geyser Basin, 

Monday Noon, July 12th, 1886. 

My dear Children : 

I have but a moment at this spot. It is distant 
twenty-two miles from the Mammoth Hot Springs 
Hotel, which we left at half-past seven this morning. 
We have just had our dinner and are awaiting the 
horses. Last night we walked over the deposit 



i6i 

made by the residuum of the water of the Mam- 
moth Hot Springs. It covers a great many acres, 
and layer after layer has accumulated, until an 
elevation of several hundred feet has been reached. 
When the waters first boil out they flow around, 
very thin and clear, but under the water beautiful 
formations appear in the most intense coloring of 
orange, pink and green. One longs to reach down 
and bring up some of the beautiful ciystallizations, 
but it is not allowed, and, besides, while under the 
water many of them are soft, and crumble when 
brought to the surface; but where the water flows 
over the incrustations which it has formed, and 
they have become hardened, the greatest variety 
of grotesque forms appear in the castellated walls 
which you see everywhere around, pile upon pile, 
layer upon layer. The colors, however, are not 
retained in their brilliancy any length of time. We 
are told that exposure to the sun fades them ; still 
there are fresh formations enough to keep them 
radiant for tourists. As we have come along, boil- 
ing springs by the road-side and vapor arising from 
the mountain-slopes have ceased to be a novelty. 
Some of the pools are clear, of a deep green, and 
some are blue, while two were boiling up the color 
and thickness of a lime-pit where workmen slack 
their lime for buildin<j. It is indeed a wonderland. 



l62 

We passed through the Golden Gate a few miles 
after our start. It is fine, but not much like the 
gate-way to the Garden of the Gods in Colorado. 
(Your father likes it better.) However, there are 
some good specimens of colored rocks as we pass 
along the little caiion, and one superb water-fall. 
Farther on we came to Electric Mountain and 
Sepulchre Mountain, and still farther at our left 
were the Obsidian Cliffs, one hundred and fifty or 
two hundred feet high, the melted glass of which 
they are composed sparkling in the sun, while 
opposite is Beaver Lake, with patches of grass and 
flowers, intermingled with beaver dams, which pre- 
sent a charming kaleidoscopic picture seldom seen. 

Then the beautiful Lake of the Woods appeared, 
whose waters are as transparent as glass, and of such 
a vivid green hue that the reflections in it of the 
pines upon the opposite mountain are so much 
greener in color that the originals look faded and 
yellow. We go on eighteen miles more for the 
night, and I must stop. You cannot say that I do 
not improve my opportunities for talking with you. 

Lower Geyser Basin Hotel, quarter-past eight 
o'clock : We have had our supper and are rest- 
ing and cooling off on the piazza. It has been a 
very hot day, but we came quite comfortably. 
Shortly after leaving the hotel this noon we came 



163 

upon the basin, which occupies a large space, perhaps 
a mile square. The road traverses it, and on our 
way we crossed to the right and left, amid bubbling 
springs and a terrific roar. 

" Old Constant " sends up a stream fifteen or 
twenty feet high about twice a minute. " Monarch " 
is very aristocratic, and only puts on his full head 
every night. We got out and paid him a visit, and 
all the attention he gav^e us was a continuous roar, 
with a puff every now and then of scalding steam. 
His basin and crater are the handsomest thus far, the 
walls and rocks around being of variegated colors 
and of mixed formations. Then "Old Growler" 
did nothing but snap and growl out of its big, bull- 
dog mouth. " Steamboat " is so named because of 
its exact imitation of letting off .steam. As we rode 
along, far and near we could see remains of old 
springs, as well as those in action, and our road 
nearly all the way was made over their debris. The 
Gibbon Cafion is truly wild and romantic, with its 
Gibbon River winding at one side ; then, as we 
ascend, it is hundreds of feet below us. The Gibbon 
Falls are on our way, which your father walked 
part of the way down the mountain to see, while I 
admired the ravine sitting in the wagon on the brink. 

Tuesday noon : This morning we started out for 
this place. Upper Geyser Basin, knowing that there 



164 

were many points to see in the distance often miles. 
After a half-hour's ride we came to Lower Geyser 
Basin, a mile or two from the hotel, passing through 
one of the loveliest of meadows, filled with flowers 
of many varieties and hues, among which were 
fringed gentians in such abundant patches as to look 
like islands of blue water in the far-off velvety grass. 
Adjoining this beautiful spot, which is several 
miles in circumference, and surrounded by hills of 
pines, is the basin, throughout which are scattered 
in every direction the springs, some of which are 
only boiling, while one or two are throwing up jets 
some twelve feet high. I may as well tell as I 
can, which is but poorly, what these immense basins 
are ; and what answers for one describes all. They 
cover from acres in extent to several miles, and look 
like snow as we approach them, on account of the 
incrustations from the overflowing water sediment, 
which are as hard as rocks. We drive on and over 
them, to and fro — sometimes, I must admit, with some 
degree of timidity, for the crust sounds hollow to the 
tread, and all about are the springs and air-holes 
belching out their muffled roar and steam. Some 
are horrible to look at; others beautiful beyond 
description. The " Paint Pot " is a wonder. It is 
one hundred and fifty feet long. About two- 
thirds of it is a boiling white mass in a caldron ; 



1 65 

the walls, perhaps, four feet high. This seething, 
bubbling matter is about the consistency of mush, 
and as it boils up all over the surface it spatters 
and spits as that does. The other third has a dozen 
or more kettles going, but those are a lovely terra- 
cotta color, as near as possible to that on our 
sitting-room ceiling. There is one feature that 
is very pretty : the water of the clear springs is as 
clear as crystal. Yet when you look into their 
depths the color is intense blue or green, but so 
transparent that you see the exact shape of their 
walls. Thus one is called " Morning Glory," the 
lining being the exact shape of that flower, in white, 
while the water is the color of the bell. " Prismatic 
Lake " I will mention at the risk of weaiying you 
with my very imperfect descriptions. It has an area 
of nearly two acres. The water is blue, but the strata 
under it are composed of brightly variegated for- 
mations. The water is of unequal depth, and the 
colors vary in accordance with those of the deposit 
beneath, except where it is blue, thus giving all the 
shades of the rainbow. Then, hanging over the 
whole surface, there is vapor, ever changing in the 
sun, but not thick enough to obscure in the least 
the beautiful waters underneath. 

" Hell's Half Acre " is a civilized name, is it not, 
for one of Uncle Sam's domains ? Yet it does not 



i66 

seem inappropriate, if all we have read of that place 
be true ; for if the cover of one or two miles that we 
visited, or rather came over, were lifted, I think we 
might see much that is described of that horrible pit. 

And now we are in the midst of the geysers proper, 
where they roar and shoot up into the air all the way 
from ten to one hundred and fifty feet. They all do 
not " go" continuously ; I believe not any of them 
but " Old Constant." Still, " Old Faithful " does 
pretty well, letting off regularly once an hour. 
Some play two or three times a day, others twice a 
month, and so on. " Old Faithful " is in front of 
my window, and has spouted twice to an immense 
height since we arrived, and with a large volume. 
" The Lion's Cub " has also been lively, and your 
father and I are going to give up the rest of the 
day to witness the performances. 

Later : Have seen " Old Grand " and " Splendid " 
go off. They throw up rockets from one hundred 
to two hundred feet. Your father came prett}' near 
getting a good scald as he peered into the throat of 
" Old Faithful," and at one time I tripped rather 
lively over the geyserite surface and pools, le.st the 
boiling water should overtake me. 

Wednesday morning : I ha\e been up an hour, 
but your father is now dressing. The mosquitoes 
bothered me so that I was crlad to rise and fii^ht 



16; 

them standing; however, we hear that they are 
much worse at the Falls, where we go to-morrow. 

Last night, after the sun went down, the Deputy 
Superintendent took us over to " Specimen Lake," 
which is guarded with great care, lest any of the 
beautiful formations which are in process of harden- 
ing (and those that are hardened, for that matter) 
should be disturbed or taken away. Laws are 
awfully strict. I suppose there would not be much 
left perfect in form if everybody felt as I do, and 
there were no restrictions. The Superintendent 
gave us one or two specimens to look at, ivJiich 
%vc did not rctia-ii. But they do not give any idea 
of the coloring; neither can paint portray nor pen 
describe it. 

Night : At half-past two we left the Upper Basin 
and came back again to the Lower Basin, whence 
we start early to-morrow for the Falls and Cafion of 
the Yellowstone. 

Thursday, seven o'clock : Up, breakfasted, and 
ready to go. Last night we had an uncommon 
event in our favor in this latitude, in the shape of a 
powerful shower, which has laid the dust nicely. 
That is the scourge of traveling in all this country, 
for the earth is mostly made up of lava and scoria, 
which, when it is ground, is ashes. We anticipate 
a delightful drive. Nearly all whom we see are 



1 68 

growling at their discomforts, and are disappointed 
that the geysers are not in constant activity; but 
some people are born so. 

Yellowstone Falls: We arrived here at half- 
past two o'clock, Thursday, after a charming 
ride. Our road was a meandering one, as you 
will see when I tell you that we forded the east 
fork of Fire-Hole River five times. Willow Creek 
once, Trout Creek once, Alum Creek twice, and, 
deepest of all, a bayou of the Yellowstone once. 
At one crossing we gathered ourselves up on the 
seat and raised all the luggage, expecting the water 
to come up into the wagon, but we went through 
high and ciry. I used to be afraid of such doings, 
but it does no good here; nobody pays the least 
attention to groans and sighs. W\^ had three miles 
of pretty rough road, as much so as any I ever 
encountered, in coming over the mountain ; then for 
sixteen miles we drove over the loveliest plateau 
imaginable, at the height of nearly 8000 feet. 

The Teton Mountains came into view at our 
right, with their glaciers glittering in the sun, 
13,691 feet high, but they did not seem so dread- 
ful, as we were at such an altitude ourselves; the 
same may be said of Mt. Washburn at the left. 
One would not expect to find such a green land- 
scape, covered with flowers of every hue; but so 
it is. 



t69 

Your father is in high glee to-night. I think, if 
convenient, he would prefer another room in an 
upper loft, but as we are in a one-story sort of 
barracks, he is obliged to suppress his airs in that 
direction. It came about in this way: We were 
riding along. Darby and Joan, when your father 
called out: "There is an elk!" Sure enough, there 
proved to be four of them in a little clump of 
trees. The)' hardly knew which way to turn, but, 
after some deliberation, made up their minds to 
trot across the road, right in front of us, when 
they scampered for the nearest woods. We were a 
good deal excited, and your father reminded me 
often enough that Jic was the one to see them first : 
but soon his usual politeness got the better of him, 
and he kindh' remarked that what was liis luck was 
///)' luck; so I forgave him, and told him it was all 
owing to the horseshoe that he found yesterday. 
But judge of my surprise when farther on he called 
out: "See! there is an antelope!" And surely, 
right before us on the side hill stood a large and 
beautiful one, apparently viewing us with wonder 
and curiosity. We stopped and looked at him. 
When we moved towards him he cantered across 
the road before us to another hill, then halted and 
looked again, and repeated his performances till 
we turned the bend. This time your father said 



I/O 

not a word about my sharing his luck, or any other 
fortune belonging to him; in fact, he is so puffed up 
that I am afraid I shall be left to forage for myself 
We afterward saw two more elk splashing in the 
water some distance off, but the driver made tlicm 
out first ; all the worse for me. This is the first 
game any party has seen in the Park this season. 

We tarried a few minutes on our way to look at 
Sulphur Mountain and Sulphur Spring. The mount- 
ain, which is one hundred and fifty feet high, is not 
all sulphur, but solid sulphur abounds in it, and 
crops out all around its side and base. 

This afternoon we rode horseback on the trail 
four and a half miles up the caiion, to see the great- 
est wonder in the world of its kind. It is indescrib- 
able, and I will not attempt to do what has never 
been done with any degree of success. I imme- 
diately selected the point of observation in Moran's 
great picture, and the coloring in that is as true to 
nature as art can ever be, and not at all exagger- 
ated; but oh! how small and weak a thing a picture 
is to portray this marvelous work of God! The 
river, trembling and foaming 1800 feet below us, 
looks almost like a thread. I venture to say that 
the falls are, next to Niagara, the grandest in this 
country, and as their roar is heard in the silence of 
the evening, I can almost imagine myself transported 



'7' 

there. But there is only one Yellowstone Caiion 
in the world, and I worship at its shrine. 

Friday, 7.15 p. m.: I sit bolstered up on the bed 
to talk a little with my loved ones. The conver- 
sation will be short, for two reasons: It will soon 
be dark in our six-by-nine room, with a single 
window, for one thing, and, in addition, I am very 
tired. Perhaps your father and I did a foolish thing 
to-day, but we have been on the top of Mt. Wash- 
burn, twelve miles distant, by horse trail. I had 
not been on a horse for twenty years till yesterday, 
but found that I had not forgotten all my past 
knowledge, and after a deal of consideration w^e 
set out. I was reminded more than once of Dr. 
T.'s remark to me : " There is no fool like an old 
fool." Still, I am rested enough to feel glad that we 
went, for your father wanted very much to go, 
and, though he is pretty stiff, we both shall be all 
right with rest and sleep. We saw on the way 
a wonderful floral display for a distance of six 
miles. The meadows and mountain-sides were a 
mass of flowers. I shall remember to tell you 
what some of them were and of their various 
colors. I counted fifty-nine varieties, aside from 
different shades of the same, of which there 
were in many instances a dozen, as in the gera- 
niums. There is nothing to be seen in this belt but 



172 

trees, grass (as green as in early spring with us), and 
this great multitude of flowers, as thick as they could 
stand; not coarse ones, either. Columbines — white, 
pink, terra cotta, salmon and yellow. Forget-me- 
nots in patches, two feet high — pale pink, intense 
blue and pale blue, their plumed heads weighted 
down with their clusters, and so on. That 
sight alone was worth all the weariness and 
trouble. We cannot account for this display in 
such a latitude and at a height of over 9000 feet. 
At the summit we were 10,346 feet high, and I 
will not attempt to describe the wealth of land- 
scape in our view as we stood entranced. The 
whole Park was visible, a wonderful panorama, 
while beyond, in all directions, the rugged, lofty 
mountains, with their picturesque and snow-capped 
peaks presented an outline of magnificence and 
beauty unsurpassed. Yellowstone Lake lay spread 
out before us, 7,788 feet higher than the sea. " It is 
.said that if Mt. Washington were sunk in the lake, 
with its base at the level of the sea, its summit 
would be nearly half a mile below the surface 
of the lake." I quote this not to disparage Mt. 
Washington, for tliat looks what it is — an awfully 
grand mountain, scoi from its base. Mt. Wash- 
burn is a rather nice mountain, notwithstanding 
the infliction of its name. It has a perpetual 



'/\5 

glacier, and I walked on the edge of it ! But 
adieu to it, and to you for to-night. 

Saturday night : After a ride of thirty-four miles 
we find ourselves back again at the Mammoth Hot 
Springs Hotel, which we left Monday. Our morn- 
ing's ride was about the worst I ever experienced. 
We came over nine miles of ne\v road — twelve for 
that matter, but nine of them were through a prime- 
val forest. The road was commenced the middle of 
last May, and not a stump has been taken out, and 
they were pretty high ones, too. That fact, with the 
addition of stones, and deep ruts, and corduroy, 
gave us all we wanted in the way of exercise. 
However, we feel well repaid for all the labor and 
exertion, and it is for a life-time, since probably 
we shall never have another opportunity to see 
the wonders in this part of our own land. I must 
stop now and creep into my nest. 

Sunday: Your letters did us a world of good last 
night. Till you have been going and going, farther 
and farther away from every one you love or who 
cares for you, not knowing what may at any 
moment befall those left behind or those travel- 
ing, you cannot realize the joy and haste with 
which we read, and the relief which good news 
brings. 



1/4 

Mammoth Hot Springs, 
Sunday Afternoon, July i8tJi, 1886. 
My dear Children : 

Here we are once more, where we were a 
week ago, and now it seems really like going home, 
as each move takes us nearer, and there is no more 
diverging from our direct, homeward course. 

Your mother has told you all about our trip 
through the Park, but a great deal of what we 
have seen is indescribable. After one has become 
somewhat familiar with grand scenery, and has 
heard and read the enthusiastic descriptions of the 
Park, first impressions are likely to be disappoint- 
ing, for there is much dull, uninteresting travel, 
as might be expected in so large a territory ; 
but no one with any sense of the beautiful, the 
grand or the wonderful can leave without feeling, 
if not saying: "The half has not been told me." 
The innumerable hot springs, with their peculiar 
colorings and formations; the many geysers throw- 
ing their fountains of hot water from thirty to two 
hundred feet high; the mountains, with their snow- 
crowned heads, surrounding the basin which forms 
the Park ; the beautiful streams and cascades ; the 
many gorges and canons; and, last of all, the won- 
derful Cafion of the Yellowstone, with its beautiful 
falls and painted walls of gorgeous color, will not 



soon be forgotten by any one who has seen them. 
Nor shall we soon forget the view from the top 
of Mt. Washburn, which few tourists see, but which 
well repaid us for our trouble and fatigue. The 
streams here are full of fish, but I have not had 
the time to try my luck. 

To-da}' we are resting, preparatory to an early 
start to-morrow morning for Livingston and the 
East. 

Do you know that I cannot realize that it is mid- 
summer? We left New York in the spring, and it 
seems as if the season must have stood still and 
waited our return. We shall spend next Sunday 
either in St. Paul or Milwaukee ; then we go to 
Chicago, where we hope D. & L. will have a let- 
ter for us, and then we start for home, where we 
hope to arrive the latter part of next week. 

Your mother has told you of the game which we 
saw in the Park, and of the airs your father put on 
because he saw it first. Well, I am glad to get 
ahead once. We seem to be the only parties favored 
with a sight of game this year — at least I cannot 
hear of any having been seen. The elk would have 
been a charmintj shot. 




1/6 

Livingston, 

July igth, 1886. 
My dear Children: 

We left Mammoth Hot Springs at eight 
o'clock, have just had our dinner, and I am seated 
(for want of a better place) in the sleeper while the 
train is making up. Of course we came over the 
same road that we traversed going into the Park. 
We seem to have left everybody that we ever saw, 
for the travel is westward. I am sorry to lose some 
that we have met the past week, who were very 
agreeable traveling companions. Among them 
were Judge W. and party. Mr. C, with his 
daughter, from St. Paul, who is connected with 
the Northern Pacific R. R., has a private car, and 
the W.'s are his guests. He came into our car 
shortly after leaving Cinnabar and invited us to 
ride with them to Livingston. We accepted, and 
had a right nice time. The Judge and Miss W. 
are very agreeable. Our late companions are 
bound for Alaska, which seems to be quite the 
fashion. I have found one, at least, to agree with 
me about mountains. Judge W. wants to go to 
Alaska, where he can see them from the base 
up, and realize their height. As I sit and look 
upon a chain at my left, not three miles off, one 
peak, I dare say, is 8000 or 9000 feet high, and 



1// 

is snow-capped; but we are 4500 feet up, and it 
does not impress me as it should. One thing is 
certain: I have harped on this string enough. 
Such varied and grand outUnes, such beautiful 
coloring, and such a multitude of summits I shall 
never see again. And now we start. Farewell to 
all that is left behind — gloriously beautiful, wonder- 
ful and grand. 

Five o'clock : We are this moment crossing 
the Yellowstone River, for the second time since 
leaving Livingston. It is quite formidable here, 
though I am sorry to say that, owing to heavy 
rains during the last twenty-four hours, it is almost 
as muddy as the chronically turbid Missouri, into 
which it flows. We follow it about four hundred 
miles, and I hope it may redeem its character 
ere long and come back to the lovely sea-green, 
which so delighted our senses in the cafion. 
The land in this mountain territory seems, for the 
most part, productive enough to invite cultivation, 
but we traverse miles and miles without seeing a 
human habitation; and yet what wonder, when we 
consider its prodigious size, and that six years ago 
there was not a railroad in the region, and that only 
nine years ago some of the bloodiest Indian wars 
were fought? It was in this locality that Custer 
lost his life. Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, with 



178 

their faithful alHes, fought desperately to keep the 
whites from the Territory; and when I stood upon 
Point Lookout and Inspiration Point and looked into 
the grandest of all canons, the Yellowstone, and still 
more when upon Mt. Washburn and the eye took 
in as beautiful a landscape as it ever rested on, I 
could but admire their courage and their deadly 
struggle to keep their rightful own. But they were 
effectually subdued, their lands taken, and they 
banished to reservations. Personally, selfishly, and 
perhaps cruelly, I am glad of it; but then again 
they were fighting for their country and their 
homes. I am just informed that we are passing the 
Crow Reservation, on which are about 3000 Indians. 
It is said to be a very fertile and well-watered tract. 
It looks to me, as we skirt along its borders, a very 
poor exchange. 

Later: I find that I must redeem the character 
of the Crows, inasmuch as they have been friendly 
to the whites ; but the Sioux and Cheyennes were 
the combatants for their soil, and the comparatively 
few who were not killed were driven to far-off res- 
ervations. Sitting Bull was sent to Dakota. 

After supper: It is an anomaly with me why, 
as soon as land becomes dry and barren, there the 
settlers go to make their homes. We have been 
through a fertile country this afternoon, and not a 



179 

soul was to be seen. Now we are on a sage-brush 
prairie, and have been for some time, and here are 
poor creatures in mud houses and dug-outs, trying, 
by irrigation, to scratch out a h'ving. I hope they 
may succeed. I see one man has watered a Httle 
spot, and a few — very few — onions, and beets, and 
potatoes are making a desperate struggle for 
growth. I cannot see a tree as far as the eye can 
reach — nothing but alkaline soil again, and the 
everlasting sage. Night is coming on and we are 
promised better things to-morrow. We hope for 
fairer weather, too. The morning stage ride was 
taken in the rain, and all day there has been a 
mist hanging over the ever gray buttes that we 
have come upon, which has ca.st rather a sombre 
aspect over everything. The sun is setting red and 
clear, and we are informed that no rain has fallen 
here for weeks. 

In the midst of this plain we ran into a city 
named Billings, after a former president of the road. 
It contains about 2000 people, and Mr. Billings has 
built here a pretty Congregational church. Your 
father and I took a turn on the platform, and whom 
should we espy but Dr. C, of the Congregational 
Union. He is on the train, and no doubt your 
father will soon be refreshed. We have again cross- 
ed the river at Billings — I think for the last time. 



i8o 

Tuesday, nine o'clock: We have passed an 
enjoyable night, so far as sleep was concerned, for I 
was wearied enough with all that I have seen, and 
with the labor involved in seeing it; so I determined 
to sleep, let what would come. And there came a 
land-slide, which delayed us two hours; but I am so 
accustomed to those things now that I do not lie 
awake to oversee matters. I do wish for one thing 
that there might be better toilet-room facilities 
invented. The accommodations and service on the 
Northern Pacific are so nearly perfect that I should 
like to have this road the first to inaugurate a new 
departure. I suppo.se there always will be some 
who consider it a mark of gentility to dress in the 
cars more elaborately than many do to attend an 
afternoon reception in New York, and it takes a long 
time to adju.st all this attire in the circumscribed 
.space of the little, wee room ; so, when one of this 
class gains possession, pray what are we plain folks 
at the end of a long line to do ? There has been 
quite a circus in our car to-day on this account. A 
string of ladies were kept back till forbearance ceased 
to be a virtue. An indignation meeting was held, 
and such a series of knockings commenced as 
finally resulted in an open door. Being an early 
bird myself, I had leisure to enjoy the skirmish. 
But the best is bad enough, and some better 



i8i 

arrangement ought to be made for the comfort of 
ladies travehng. On three or four occasions, when 
the drawing-room was unoccupied, the porter smug- 
gled me in there, which was a luxury. 

We have just passed the line into Dakota, after 
having journeyed seven hundred and eighty miles 
through Montana. This morning we awoke in the 
Montana Bad Lands, so called from the numberless 
buttes which crop out on e\'ery side, in every 
conceivable form, and of a gray color, striped 
with brown and pale yellow. This belt is narrow, 
and is the best grazing country in the Territory, 
strange as it may appear. The cattle winter better 
among the buttes, and the grass (what there is of it) 
cures itself as it grows, and is veiy nutritious, though 
it looks very brown and lifeless. 

We are now in the Dakota Bad Lands, similar in 
formation to the others, but of more vivid coloring. 
The same peculiarity exists in regard to the pastur- 
age, and many cattle ranches are all along the road. 
Many of the houses are mud adobes, but as some of 
the cattlemen are making mone}', these will give 
way in time to something better. Medora, our next 
stopping-place, is where the Marquis de Mores has 
planted a million of dollars in a ranch and abattoirs. 
It remains to be seen whether he gets it back, though 
this summer he is beginning to ship his beef 



l82 

Medora : We have seen the Marquis. He 
was standing in his office door, when a man from 
the platform called, and he came out and answered 
the greeting. I dwell on him a little, because he is a 
hero Jicre, having killed a man in self-defense three 
years ago, and just been acquitted, after being in 
jail, etc. I said to a resident, who was relating 
an account of the affair : " They will be apt to let 
him alone now, I think." " You bet," said he. 
On the platform, too, we made the acquaintance 
of a cowboy, with pistols, boots and spurs, who 
is one of the brightest men I ever met. I invited 
him into our .section to get information, and feel well 
repaid. His remarks are to the point every time, 
but in typical language, and too voluminous to 
write. He has asked my address, with the idea of 
sending me a box of specimens.* This is a curious 
country. It is all on fire around here. There is 
a .stratum of coal, and coal is mixed with the 
clay soil. The coal ignites very easily, and there 
is no way of stopping the fire till it burns itself 
out. The whole country around Medora looks like 
a brick-yard, except that there is no mechanical 
aid to form the baked clay that is l}'ing all around 
in chips and slabs. The tops of the hillocks are 
all red-burnt clay. Softer deposits have been washed 

*I have heard from him several times since our return. 



i83 

away, lea\'int^" the red rocks in many cases standing 
out alone in the most outre figures imaginable. 
So we see some new development of nature all the 
time. Do you weary of hearing about it ? Well, 
it will soon be over now, and I never could have 
remembered to tell )'ou in any other way. 

Dickinson is a town we have just quitted. It is 
nearly six years 'old, and is growing rapidly. A 
ranchman told us that six years ago the buffaloes 
roamed around here in thousands. The hills were 
black with them, and thousands of men hunted 
them for their hides, but there has not been one in 
this region for three years, except the few in the 
National Park. We have seen immense piles of their 
bones all along, where they have been collected for 
sliipment to crushing factories, to be prepared for 
fertilizing. As we have now passed several car-loads, 
I will explain why they are here so long after the 
buffaloes were killed. The animals were slaugh- 
tered for their hides only, although sometimes for 
their tongues also, and the carcasses left on the 
prairie. Now the bones, clean and bleached, are 
picked up and transported. It may seem unac- 
countable to you, as it did to me, that there should 
have been such a clean sweep. The Union Pacific 
drove them up this way, and they herded in the Bad 
Lands ; but nobody thought they were all here. 



1 84 

when lo and behold! they were gone. I am 
indebted to a gentleman from St. Paul, who is 
returning from a visit to his ranches, for much 
v^aluable information, and for more than a corrobo- 
ration of what I have written about these animals. 
He has seen the Missouri River so thick with 
them for miles, when they were on a stampede, 
that the boats could not cross. 

At five o'clock we reached Mandan, a larger town 
than we have seen since leaving Helena last week. 
Eight years ago there was no Mandan. Now it has 
a population of 2500. We saw three banks, a 
handsome court-house, several creditable brick 
blocks, and a few fine residences. This town 
is west of the Missouri, and after crossing the 
river on a bridge over fourteen hundred feet 
long we come to Bismarck, the capital of Dakota, 
which contains 4500 inhabitants. In appearance 
it is much like Mandan, except larger, which 
fact aggravates the people of the latter place, who 
aspire to overrun the former. While crossing 
the bridge we saw at a little distance Fort Lin- 
coln, where General Custer passed the last two 
years of his life. This post was attacked several 
times by the Sioux. Since crossing the river 
we seem to have come into a more civilized and 
Christian land. It does really seem good to see 



i85 

farms planted with corn and potatoes. There is 
not a fence anywhere — only the boundless plain ; 
but I dare say each proprietor knows his own. 
The ranchman said to-day that some of his cattle 
sometimes stray off two hundred miles, and he 
hears nothing of them for a year ; but they are 
all branded, the mark registered, and whoever 
finds a cow with a calf puts the same mark on 
that as the mother has, and either they or their 
equivalent must come back. And now night is 
drawing near. The next to\vn of importance is 
Jamestown, one hundred and twelve miles from 
Bismarck. Between this city and Fargo lies the 
great Red River wheat belt. We do not pass 
Fargo, it being a little north of our line. We 
must go through Jamestown and the great wheat 
fields during the night, which I regret, as we are 
told that the harvesting is now at its height ; how- 
ever, we have seen wheat harvesting in all its 
gloiy farther south. What a long time it seems 
since we were in the Joaquin Valley! Your father 
.says we do go right through Fargo, and he is 
sorry that it happens in the night. Amen. 

Good-morning, my dear children and Grace. A 
pretty morning it is, too. The night was not par- 
ticularly comfortable. The car was hot, and I did 
not sleep very well, but was recompensed partly by 



1 86 

a good look at Fargo at half-past one o'clock. It 
spreads out considerably, and has the appearance of 
a well-to-do city, with its horse railroads and elec- 
tric lights. If the number of locomotives, the 
screaming of engines, and the jingling of bells are 
any signs, it is an enterprising one without doubt. 
We crossed the Red River at that point, and came 
into Moorhead, on the opposite bank, another town 
of some push and success, considering its youth. 
We awoke in Minnesota, and shortly after crossed 
the Crow River, a wide, handsome, rapid and clear 
stream. This was too early for your father, who 
indulged in another nap, and was late at breakfast. 
At Brainerd, a large town with an imposing hotel, 
named The Villard, we crossed the Mississippi, 
and I rejoice that I am in a latitude to see it 
uncolored, transparent and inviting. The sight of 
trees is appetizing. I enjoyed my breakfast better 
for looking out upon the green grass and the wav- 
ing fields of grain — corn especially, which we have 
missed so much. In the early morning the trees 
were mostly white birches, but soon oaks appeared 
and they still continue ; and, though they are some- 
what diminutive and rather scrubby, they are sonic- 
thing. I do not wonder that in going over those 
Western plains, where not a thing greets the eye 
but the boundless and cheerless expanse and the 



1 87 

red-hot glare of the sun, the largest building you 
see in the distanee — indeed, often the only one — is 
the insane asylum. 

Did you read about the cyclone at Sauk Rapids 
this spring? We have just been out on the platform 
to see the result of its power. One-half of the rail- 
road bridge over the Mississippi is gone — stone piers 
and all, and nearly the whole town, which is being 
rebuilt. It followed the river to St. Cloud, a mile 
below, and took a belt out of that town, killing in 
both places seventy-three people. It is a pitiable 
sight. Alas! where are we safe, except in the 
encircling arms of our dear Father in Heaven? 

St. Paul: We parted with Dr. C. and the rest of 
our newly-found acquaintances at Minneapolis, and 
reached here in time for dinner. The part of the 
State that we came over is said to be the most fer- 
tile. Certainly it was a luxury to us to see the 
thrift that everywhere prevailed — the beautiful 
green, the many lakes, and rivers, and streams. 




1 88 

Hotel Ryan, St. Paul, Minn., 

July 2 1 St, 1886. 
My dear Children : 

Your mother has told you most of what has 
happened to us since we left the Mammoth Hot 
Springs, where we closed our last letters to you. 
After giving you our address we changed our plans 
and decided to come directly here, making this 
headquarters for both St. Paul and Minneapolis. 
The hotel is very full, there being a convention in 
session here (on charities, I believe), with a great 
many delegates in attendance, among them Miss 
Clara Barton and ex-President Hayes, whom we 
saw at dinner. 

Your mother has written of our meeting Dr. C. at 
Billings. He was not in our car, but we have visited 
quite a little during the past two days. Aside from 
the Bad Lands in Montana and Dakota, there has 
been nothing especially notable in the sceneiy since 
we left the Park, though it is wonderful to note how 
towns and cities have sprung up almost in a night 
along the line of the railroad. It is pleasant to get 
back once more into a civilized country; to see 
green grass and growing crops, such as we are 
used to, and without irrigation. 



■ 89 

St. Paul, Minn. 

July 2jd, iSS6. 
My dear Children: 

Your letters, as well as W.'s telegram, came 
yesterday, and we were glad to hear that all are well. 
As for ourselves, we arrived here in a wear)^ and 
rather dilapidated condition. I do not consider the 
former state the result of excessive travel ; probably 
the sudden descent from the great altitude in which 
\\'e had been sojourning had something to do with 
it, for while there I could accomplish a great deal 
without fatigue. I do not know how long such an 
effervescence would have continued, but for the 
time being it was delightful to be able to go every- 
where and do ever}-thing with no constraint of 
bodily weakness or lack of mental appreciation. 

Your father did not seem to feel the change so 
much. In the morning he rehabilitated himself in 
garments befitting a gentleman, and, after having 
had his head and face divested of all superfluous 
growth, departed to Minneapolis to begin again his 
routine of inspection, etc. 

As for myself, the flesh was weak and the spirit 
not willing. First, I felt unequal to the task of 
making myself presentable until I had spent a 
part of the day, at least, in strict seclusion, and 
second, I had been too recently beholding and 



contemplating the beautiful, the grand, and the 
wonderful works of nature to be entertained by 
going over a flouring mill ! 

I am coming down to every-day life. I am 
almost there, and I begin to realize that my play- 
day is nearly over. Shall I sometime awake and 
find that the past three months are all a dream? 
Thus my day was spent in reminiscence and reflec- 
tion. This morning I was ready to go into the 
world again and see St. Paul, a city not particularly 
saintly, I should think, and perhaps not otherwise, 
but so named because it grew from the St. Paul's 
Mission. We drove all about, in company with one 
of the agents of the " Home," thereby getting a 
pretty accurate knowledge of the town. Consider- 
ing its age, its growth is' almost fabulous, though 
I believe that of Minneapolis is more so. The 
rivalry between the two cities is great. 

A goodly number of railroad magnates live here, 
and their homes are beautiful. Summit avenue has 
some of the finest residences I ever saw. The 
streets impress me as rather narrow, but the whole- 
sale stores and many public buildings are large, 
solid, and would compare favorably with those in 
any city I know. 

Saturday: After breakfast this morning )-our 
father and I took the cars for Minneapolis, where 



191 

we arrived after a half-hour's ride, and thence we 
proceeded directly to Minnehaha Falls. I was 
afraid I should be cheated out of that, if your 
father's friends got hold of us first. The falls are 
about five miles from Minneapolis, and are very 
pretty. At this season a rather thin sheet of water 
comes over the rocks, but the formation is unique, 
being in the form of a horseshoe, and the layers of 
rock are as even as though they had been chiseled. 
There is a path all around the inside of the shoe 
behind the falls. I went half-way around, and the 
water was about ten feet in front of me. A lovely 
rainbow lent its charm at the foot, while the stream 
gurgles and splashes through a wild and romantic 
ravine, reached by a flight of long stairs, much 
easier to go down than to ascend this hot day. 
Speaking of falls, I have always supposed that 
those of St. Anthony amounted to something, and 
perhaps they do, if one could see them. They are 
across the Mississippi, which is rather wide here, 
but are covered for their whole depth with an 
apron ! It seems that the power is utilized for 
milling and manufacturing purposes; and, as the 
rock is worn by the force of the water, in order 
to keep them for use instead of beauty, they are 
boxed, that they may not recede! The greed 
and grasp of narrow minds is not confined to 



192 

Connecticut Yankees, I am happy to say, though 
perhaps this is the work of Yankees only one or 
two generations removed. 

Minneapolis is a thriving town, on the flood-tide 
of prosperity. Fortunes are made in no time. To 
hear men talk one would suppose that you had 
only to buy a piece of land to-day, and next week 
or next month you would be a millionaire, or on 
the straight road to be one. There is no end to the 
buildings going up. The city contains a greater 
number of elegant residences than I ever saw in any 
one place of its size, and one of the Washburn's has 
a larger private house than any I have ever seen ; it 
is simply immense. The streets are wider than in 
St. Paul, and there are no fences. There is an 
ordinance providing that the ground in front of 
every house shall be in boulevard fashion; that is, 
there shall be first the lawn, down or out to the 
pavement; then another strip of green sod, some 
six feet wide, beyond the pavement and next the 
street. This being uniform, and all closely shaven 
and fresh, you can imagine somewhat the effect. 
There is also every conceivable style of archi- 
tecture, and just as much variety of material used 
in building as possible. Each one strives, as our 
friend told us, to outvie his neighbor, and the suc- 
cess is great. The churches, too, are on a grand 



193 

scale, and I have never seen any finer or more 
costly anywhere, unless it be Dr. Hall's Church 
and the Collegiate Church at Forty-eighth street. 
Those are not as ornate, but your father thinks 
they may have cost more. Every one must be 
impressed with the fact that these twin cities are 
remarkable. Minneapolis is only thirty-two years 
old. and though St. Paul's Mission dates further 
back, the actual growth is coeval with her si.ster. 
St. Paul is the more commercial, while the wealth 
of Minneapolis is derived mostly from manufactur- 
ing pursuits, and in both cities many persons have 
become millionaires from real-estate speculation. 
They are called " Twin Sisters," and glory in the 
name themselves ; but I have known people bearing 
that relationship who did not seem so jealous and 
envious of each other. 

Your father has been to church this Sunday 
morning. Yesterday was a hard day, for the 
thermometer ran up to ninety-four degrees, and 
the night air was far from bracing ; so I staid home 
to rest for our departure to-night. One more city 
to visit, Milwaukee, and I shall have seen all that 
is new in our eastward path. 




194 

Monday Morning, 

July 26th, 1886. 
Good-morning, my dear children ; and it seems 
nice to be able to say this greeting without feeling 
three hours behind hand. We left St. Paul at ten 
o'clock last night. The sleeper was very full, which 
fact did not improve the air. The thermometer was 
well up, the lamp shone in my face, and two young 
girls (I cannot say ladies) opposite me talked all 
night. More than once I was reminded of W.'s 
remarks up in the Maine woods, on the subject of 
giggling. One would suppose that I might be just a 
little cross this morning, but my natural amiability 
forbids it. Besides, I got a good start. At half-past 
five I arose from my luxurious couch and dressed in 
the most improved manner, after three months' prac- 
tice in this style of conveniences. At this juncture 
the ever genial, let-what-will-happen gentleman, your 
father, was ready to accompany me to breakfast, from 
which repast we have but now returned to our car. 
We were sorry to lose so much of Wisconsin during 
the night, it being new to us, but it is a generous 
State, and there is a good deal left. A shower has 
fallen, and the country is charming. The dew 
upon the grass, sparkling in the early sun, was 
refreshing to see ; and as we passed a wooded extent, 
covered with young .spruce-trees, whose thick foliage 



195 

held the drippiny; moisture, which was also glisten- 
ing, the effect was novel and pleasing. I wonder if 
any color of foliage and landscape other than green 
could have such a cooling and soothing influence if 
it had been given at first by the Disposer of all 
good? We are going through a perfect garden, 
whose background is the greenest of oaks, which 
are stretched against the sky for a long distance. 
Occasionally a farm-house comes into view, with the 
tall, straight, Lombardy poplars about it, breaking in 
their height the monotony of the line, while all 
around are the variously cultivated farms, each vari- 
ety of produce in its own tint of green, broken only 
by the shades of brown, unharvested grain. The 
clumps of young oaks sending out their new growth 
of pink tips, the hay-ricks in the meadows, the trees 
laden with their unripe fruit, the solitary maples 
and elms now and then rising out of the undulating 
plain, the groups of wdiite birches clustering in the 
foreground, all combine to cheer and soften the 
weary — and the rebellious, if such there be. I did 
feel a little of the latter spirit this morning, when 
the sun broke out in a red-hot blaze, and there was 
every promise of a scorching ride on the sunny 
side of the car ; but clouds have veiled the sun, 
and this all-pervading freshness and beauty have 
charmed me into peace and restfulness. 



\g6 

This train goes so fast that one can hardly think. 
At this rate we expect to reach Milwaukee at eleven 
o'clock. The station we halt at now is Water- 
town, the first place of importance since leaving 
Portage, at breakfast-time. There is a pretty river 
flowing along, with power, too, I judge, by the mills 
upon its banks. The church-steeples tower up as 
though they took pride in telling the world that 
they are representatives of a religious community. 

Your father has marched back to say that he 
is delighted to leave the Gardens of the Gods, 
the Bad Lands, sage brush, and all the other good 
things, and get back to something like life and 
thrift. He is already pining for 119 Broadway, and 
longs to harness into business. Oh, happy inevi- 
table ! I hope I have left the Indians behind, for one 
thing. I am sick and tired of them, having heard 
lately so much of their atrocities and their mean, 
sneaking, crafty, lazy and filthy habits, that my 
.sympathy for them has about died out. I never did 
feel like making pets of them, as I heard a lady say 
last night the people of Washington are now doing 
with those dreadful Apaches, who have just been 
murdering every one they could lay their hands on. 
Whenever I have been near any of the race, some 
one has pulled me by the sleeve and whispered: 
"Oh, don't go too near, or you will suffer the 
con.sequenccs." 



197 

I wonder what lake this is that we have just flown 
by? Boats are on it, with a summer hotel on the 
shore. It is not far this side of Oconomowoc, a 
flourishing^ town, while Nashotah, right here, is the 
seat of a large Episcopal seminary. There are 
happ}- farmers in this region. The cattle are numer- 
ous, and fat, and sleek. The barns are large and 
filling up with harvest. The houses are commo- 
dious, and evidently built with regard to comfort, 
some being luxurious looking abodes. Truly, our 
country is great, and Wisconsin is no mean factor. 
How any foreigner can travel through the length and 
breadth of our land and not be struck by its beauty, 
wealth, magnificence, and rising power, I cannot 
imagine. And the intelligence of the people is 
something amazing. Wherever we go, even in the 
most remote sections, there appear the church and 
the school-house, the latter often the finest building 
in the place; it might be so in regard to the 
churches, if it were not thought necessary to have 
two, three or four — almost one to each man's creed. 
The great fact is that the seed of New England 
is all over this broad land, and is the leav^en 
which will save and keep this country. I should 
think that nearly every American settler whom we 
have met originated there. 

Five o'clock p. m.: Eleven o'clock found us 
safe at Milwaukee, and, after leaving me at Hotel 



198 

Plankington, your father proceeded to the office, 
busmesswise. Since dinner we have been driving 
about town. This is to me a pecuhar city, inasmuch 
as the German element prevails to a large extent, fully 
one-third the population being of that extraction, 
and what makes it appear more so is the fact that a 
great Saengerfest has been held here since Wednes- 
day. It closed last night, or we might not have 
found a place to lay our heads. I condescended this 
afternoon to visit a brewery, the largest in this 
country, if not in the world. It did not interest me 
as much as it did your father, for good business 
reasons, though the space occupied is immense and 
the number of barrels turned out yearly is appall- 
ing — namely: four hundred thousand! 

This town has the advantage of a fine water front 
on Lake Michigan, and facing it, and in that vicinity, 
are the handsomest dwellings. The business part of 
the city is not equal to that of the "Twin Cities" 
in style and general appearance, but it is very rich, 
and the homes compare favorably with those of 
Minneapolis ; in fact, there is a great similarity, the 
houses standing alone, and no fences, with the same 
arrangement in front, though here it is optional with 
the owner. Milwaukee has about 165,000 inhabit- 
ants, and its growth has been mostly during the 
last thirty-six years. People in the East, who have 



199 

never been West, can have little idea of the push, 
and wealth, and beauty of these cities. 

Tuesday: Last night your father and I indulged 
in a little dissipation. Mr. D. asked us to an enter- 
tainment in the Exhibition Building. It was a grand 
concert given by one of the musical societies here, 
and a large part of the singing was by children from 
eight to perhaps fifteen years old. The building 
had been put in order at great expense for the 
Saengerfest, and made capable of seating eight 
thousand people in chairs. Last night it was two- 
thirds full, and the spectacle was very imposing. 
The children were a wonderful sight. There were 
several hundreds, most of them Germans, and all 
the girls dressed in white. But, oh ! how they did 
sing ! Such precision in time, such blending of 
harmony, and such sweet voices I never heard. 

The house was profusely decorated with flags and 
evergreens, as is, in fact, the whole city. The 
triumphal arches alone have cost a great sum, and 
there is no end of t|uaint designs and bunting. In 
the cars, in the hotel and in the streets I hear noth- 
ing but gutteral, and sutteral, and dotteral, and 
quatteral. I expected every moment to hear your 
father get off his show sentence in the language, 
but after his attempt with Mr. M., he is a trifle shy 
before me. It is .said that during the first day of 



200 

the festival three thousand barrels of beer were 
drunk ! 

Later, on the train: Milwaukee, my last city 
in the chain, is left behind. We watched its pretty 
environs from the platform, and I reflected that this 
is the only iircu road before me, this little three 
hours' trip to Chicago. What a circle we have 
spanned since last we bid good-bye to our friends 
there, amid their adieux and good wishes ! How 
much we have seen to remember and enjoy the 
remainder of our lives! How mercifully we have 
been preserved from sickness, accidents and perils! 
And then our loved ones at home. How kindly 
has the dear Father watched over them, surround- 
ing them with blessings and comforts ! And even 
still, as we fly along, all nature is smiling at us in 
her most beautiful garments of forest, field and 
flower, looking never more lovely than when she 
is welcoming us back to our friends and home. 
You two, who have followed us so closely in our 
wanderings, in our adventures and in our delights, 
with dear little Grace, are not the least in our 
thoughts as we approach the place where first we 
tried to tell you of our welfare day by day in these 
letters, which are so soon to give place to actual 
fellowship once more. 

THE END. 



LKPJa'30 



